Since I've Been Loving You
by nemain13
Summary: How long can one have almost what he needs and survive? Marshall struggles with being so close to Mary and yet remaining so far away. This is the development of something previously conceived in iPod drabbledom. Now rated M. Was bound to happen, folks...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have to write this one. It's been waiting for a long time now, and with the new season starting and watching the reruns of the old one, it's clamoring too loudly to ignore. This one started out as a couple of 10 iPod Shuffle segments that I'm going to meld. This happens sometime after "Once a Ponzi Time." "Don't Cry for Me, Albuquerque" never happened in this world, and, well....other stuff has....**

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Working from seven to eleven every night,  
It really makes life a drag, I don't think that's right.  
I've really, really been the best of fools, I did what I could.  
'Cause I love you, baby, How I love you, darling, How I love you, baby,  
How I love you, girl, little girl.  
But baby, Since I've Been Loving You. I'm about to lose my worried mind, oh, yeah.

~ "Since I've Been Loving You" – Led Zeppelin

* * *

Marshall traced his fingertips across the lacquered wood of the tabletop, tracing abstract images as the neon reflected there. He had commandeered his favorite back booth when he'd come in, back securely against the wall instinctively. There was classic rock playing low in the background, something plaintive and bluesy by Zeppelin that suited his current mood, and he was working his way through a bottle of Mary's favorite scotch. Ordering it had seemed fitting at the time, an irony, and he appreciated those as a rule, although this one had a double-edge to it that was cutting into him like trying to hold the blade of a well-crafted sword in the bare palm of his hand.

This was a good place to come to as a refuge. They knew him here. Not because he did this often. God knows he didn't do it as often as he sometimes felt the need to. They knew him here because sometimes the two of them came here to grab a bite when the day was done, to share a beer before they they separated for those brief hours they spent away from each other.

_Before she leaves the man who she shares her life with to go back to the man who she shares her bed with. Does she ever notice the paradox there? Probably not. She's not much on paradox or irony or anything that can't be wrestled to the ground and beaten into submission.... _

He'd lost track of time quite some time ago, but that was the point, wasn't it? Outside, the cold still chill of winter had wrapped around the bar like a fist of ice. Marshall's long black coat lay folded neatly across the back of the booth, his last act of habitual neatness before he abandoned everything, deliberately laid his responsibilities and his burdens down as purposefully as he'd tucked and folded that dark wool.

_'Cause sooner or later, I'll have to put all this back on and go back out there where it's so cold it's painful... But not just yet. Not just yet...._

He sipped from the glass on the table methodically while his sharp analytical brain took a brief moment to assess his sobriety.

_Not drunk enough yet. Still thinking about it...about her...and him and....and..._

He rubbed his ring finger absently as though there were some restriction causing him pain there. About that same time, the cell phone he'd set on the table in front of him came to life, vibrating and humming insistently with the ringer off. A cynical grin that had more pain than humor in it twisted his lips briefly as he watched the phone do its frantic little dance. It had already demandingly buzzed three or four times, and he had just as steadfastly refused to answer it. He knew who it was.

_She doesn't need me. She's made that manifestly clear. Whatever it is, she can handle it herself. She believes she can handle everything herself...._

She was going to marry that damn fool Raph, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Oh, well, yeah, there were probably things he could do, but he didn't much fancy jail time. He laughed mirthlessly and finished off what was left in his glass, poured more from the bottle on the table. He indulged himself for a moment as he drank, gave his mind bold permission to wander down dark and dangerous paths he never, ever let it even peer over the barred and locked gates of when he was in better control of himself.

_What would good old Raphael do if he knew...if I told him about...If I laid this out for him and just said, "You don't know her at all, not ...at ...all." Would he give me the satisfaction of throwing the first punch? Would he give me a reason to destroy us both, end it all?_

He sat the glass down hard on the table, spilled some over the side without noticing in his agitation, and covered his face with his hands. The scotch was getting to him now. He could feel it, but the relief he'd expected wasn't coming. He wanted to sob, to scream, to destroy something. When was it going to stop hurting? What was it going to take? And how the hell had it all turned out this way? Why did he keep clinging to this like somebody holding onto a burning piece of coal?

_Why can't I just pack up and get out? Leave her? Go back to Phoenix or request a transfer to any other field office anywhere? I've had offers enough. God, even Alaska has a field office, don't they? She'd never find me there...._

A ridiculous image of Mary in a snow suit pursuing him over the ice and then harpooning him like some sort of wild seal struck him, and he laughed a little, rubbed at his chest, his eyes. On the table, his cell went off again. Restlessly, he shoved it to the far side of the table. Why the hell did she keep calling him?

_What does she want from me? What else can I give her that she doesn't already have? I don't have anything left anymore. She already has it all. Already has it all..... _

He lifted the glass and emptied it, drank as if he were dying of thirst, relishing the pain as a different source of agony than the one ripping him up inside, praying that the alcohol would numb it soon because he was pretty sure he was going to go crazy if it didn't soon.

Sometime later, he realized that the phone had stopped its buzzing. _Good. She gave up on me. _He tried not to feel the spear of pain that sent through him. He also tried not to think about what she might be doing, what _they_ might be doing together, but the images just kept coming from his helpful, creative brain. He could see her, exquisite, golden, the idol and idyll of his heart all too clearly, knew what she liked, knew just where she was sensitive along her neck.... _ Does he? Does he know her like I do? _He put his elbows on the table, tore at his hair. Damn, damn, damn. Would it never end?

Suddenly, there was the rustle of fabric near him, the sound of someone sliding into the booth across from him. He refused to look up. He could smell her, the clean scent of her, of shampoo and soap, and something else, that tang of her that was indefinable but that made everything in him both yearn with agony and sigh in relief. He heard the sound of the bottle sliding across the table, and he did not move. He could not. His hands in his own hair were all the anchor he had, all that was preventing him from some unplanned action, from a stream of unpredictable and likely unforgivable words, from reaching across the table for her....

Her voice, when it came, was low and mostly steady, rational-sounding, the forced calm that she used to hide real fear and panic. He'd heard that voice, the _handling the situation voice, _ a hundred times with witnesses, with Brandi, with Jinx, but only once before with him, once as he'd lain in bloody agony with a bullet in his shoulder.... "We always answer, Marshall. That's the unspoken damn rule."

He said nothing, did not move.

She continued. "I got so worried I was on my way to your house, and as I passed here I saw your truck parked outside. Jesus, Marshall. I've been trying to get you for hours. You know that? Hours. We don't _do_ that."

His hands flexed once, and he lowered them. He looked up at her with his most cutting smile firmly in place, eyes sharp despite the amount he'd had to drink. She held the bottle between her hands, knuckles white on it as she watched him with confusion and what in any other person might have even been called apprehension, trying to figure out what had made him come here, do this tonight.

_As if she doesn't know. As if there could be anything else. But, if she wants to play these little games, by all means. Let's play. _

He felt something hum through him, dark and dangerous. He reached across the table, and with surprising dexterity for someone who was very much drunk, he plucked the bottle from her grasp. He waggled it at her admonishingly when she scowled at him and poured another glassful, lifted it.

"Marshall," she said, urgency, worry, and a growing irritation in her tone.

"Mare," he said her name in an exaggeratedly serious fashion sure to irritate, and he kept his eyes focused on his glass, took a large swallow, two. "Seems that lately lots of 'set rules' between us have been going by the wayside, right? A lot of the old 'thou shalts and thou shalt nots' have fallen. So, really, what's one more on that great big heap of bones?" And he tossed back the rest of the drink, slammed the glass on the table, pulled out the cash he'd already neatly and carefully folded in his shirt pocket for his check ahead of time, stared at it a bit blearily for a moment, tossed it onto the table, and then struggled unsteadily to his feet.

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**There will be backstory/continuation. Hang on for chapter 2. By all means, though, let me know what you think of this one in the meanwhile.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Backstory time.... This is part one of the backstory. This is going to take awhile..... Please be aware that this chapter has Key Lime Pie in it. It's not as robust as I usually write, but I am bumping this story on up to M to be safe. I pretty much figured this one would get there.....**

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To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself. ~Soren Kierkegaard

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They'd just been eating lunch. Marshall had seen that damn tan line on her finger, and when it had finally registered as she'd pulled that hideous ring out of her pocket and slapped it down on the table as if it were something she were being arrested for, he thought he would simply stop breathing right there. A tingling cold had started in the middle of his chest and spread from head to toe in sweeping waves as he'd stared at the little circle of shiny metal and pressurized carbon atoms that rocked so gently on the Formica of the diner tabletop.

He'd wanted to dash it aside with his hand the way one might do with something hazardous that had suddenly appeared to close to him or her, simply sweep it away with a quick gesture. He had, of course, instead, wound up with the ostentatious thing stuck on his own ring finger, plaything of the gods that he was.

Every time he'd looked down, he'd felt the stabbing of both the painful tightness of the ring and a second echo around his heart as he looked at the overly-elaborate confection Raph had bought for her. Marshall knew Mary wouldn't like it at all but would wear it all the same. It was too much for a woman who worked with, even fought to stay alive with, her hands every single day. Didn't he notice that she rarely even wore earrings other than basic studs? What possessed that idiot to buy her such a gaudy bauble? Did he have to stake such an overt claim on her? It reminded him of a dog marking its territory....

After the case was all over and his hand was his own again, he'd made his decision. He'd raised his glass, looked her right in the eyes, and in front of Eleanor and Stan, in front of God and Country, told her he'd loved her. He'd seen her narrow her eyes and look at him sideways, unsure, uneasy, trying to pretend he didn't mean what she knew, deep inside that place where she couldn't lie to herself, he really meant. She was, however, an Inspector Marshal, and she knew shit from shinola when she chose to make those sorts of judgment calls. She could decide for herself what to do with this newfound knowledge, whether she was going to sweep it under a rug and pretend that it hadn't been said, or at least, not really meant, or whether there was going to be anything more to it than that.

He had the oddest feeling of totally hopeless freedom that night. He didn't regret telling her at all...at least not then. The regret would come later.

---

The change in her was subtle. He'd caught her eying him with that same watchful stillness several times over the next few days, that same sideways glance, head cocked, eyes slightly narrowed, mouth twisted up at the corner. He'd meet her look, curious, and she'd just hold it for a moment, then go back to whatever it was that she was doing. It unsettled him. He felt a little like something being stalked by a very nervy jungle cat.

_She'll have this conversation when she's ready. I'm not saying another damn word. _

He resolutely focused his attention, all of it, on the computer screen. But he found himself helplessly watching her fingers twining in the cord of her phone as she called to make preliminary arrangements for one of her witness's son's school enrollment a little while later.

Across the office, a throat cleared. Eleanor was watching him with a knowing and somehow sad smile from her desk. He looked up at her, startled, and he felt the color start to flood his cheeks. His eyes darted back to Mary and she was looking directly at him, pinning him with her golden gaze.

---

Perhaps what happened next, then, was inevitable. Mary and Marshall had to transport a witness to meet with a team in Texas. At the drop-off point, a dusty, left-over, after-thought of a town, though, they were ambushed by a small but impeccably professional hit-squad from the opposing team, and everyone involved had to fight for it to survive.

Mary and Marshall survived, mostly due to their innate sense of partnership, that unteachable, untrainable way they anticipated each other and knew without telling each other what to do and when to best assist the other and get out of the way when that was what was most useful, too. They kept their witness alive by hiding her inside the long-since defunct freezer of an old, shutdown concrete block grocery store and taking their stand behind its sturdy marble, oak, and steel deli counter, a relic of bygone days. The glass windows shattered and the metal shelves of the old store pinged as stray bullets hit around them, but Mary and Marshall were fairly well-protected.

By the time the backup U.S. Marshals and the Texas Rangers had arrived to assist them, four people were dead and five wounded, mostly superficially, including Mary and Marshall. One of the Texas Marshals was being airlifted to the nearest medical center for a serious gunshot wound. One of the hit men lay in a pool of his own blood just outside the doors to the grocery, a bullet from Marshall's Glock in him, dead eyes staring up at a rusting metal sign of the Sunbeam Bread girl whose cheery smile was undimmed by the spectacle before her. Another lay just outside a window in the cracked parking lot, a neat headshot by Mary having ended his attempt to shoot them through the opening.

Texas took possession of the witness, and Mary and Marshall watched as she was whisked away, her wide, wet, and frightened eyes one of the last things they'd ever see of her. Throughout the gunfight, they'd heard her, a devout Catholic, praying her rosary over and over in the echoing chamber of the old freezer. She lifted her hand and pressed it against the glass in a gesture of parting to Mary and Marshall from the window of the Expedition. They could see she still had the rosary draped across the hand, the round glossy black beads making indentations into her palm. From somewhere, they summoned up enough energy to wave back, to wave farewell....

When it was time for them to leave, they found that their vehicle had been sabotaged quite deliberately by the hit men and rendered undriveable. The Texas officers took them to the nearest town of any size and dropped them at a hotel with promises that they would get them a vehicle in the morning. Mary and Marshall had just leaned against each other, too weary to do more than that.

Now Mary stood aimlessly in the lobby, trying not to think about how much the huge bleeding gouge on her shoulder was hurting her under her jacket. She had deliberately dodged the medical unit, her only wish to get away as fast as possible from the dead man under the sign with the happy little golden-haired girl. She could feel a small trickle of blood run down her back. Moments later, Marshall was back with a rueful expression on his face.

"What? That's your 'there's a problem' face. And there so doesn't need to be another problem right now."

"Not a problem per se. More like a potential inconvenience." He held up his hand to show the little paper envelope that room keys came in. There was only one. He was balanced lightly on his feet in order to escape if she swung.

It was tempting, but she was too tired, and it wasn't his fault anyway. This town was in the middle of some kind of local annual festival, and it was packed full of tourists. She'd seen Marshall slap his badge down on the countertop of the registration desk, a behavior she might indulge in frequently but something he almost never did, and she knew that he'd already bumped somebody out of a room just to get the single key he held. She could not claw at him for this. She sighed. "Of course. Everything else has been totally screwed this trip. Why not? Come on. It's not like we haven't done this before."

---

Marshall opened the door and they stepped inside. The room was clean and neat, the furnishings were new, but there was only one bed. Granted, it was a large bed.... Mary looked at it and back at Marshall. She was watching him sideways again.

"What? I told you it was the best I could do...." His voice was full of weariness and frustration until he looked at her face again.

A snicker escaped her despite her best efforts to contain it.

"Ah, now, that's just low. You're not angry?"

She drew back and lightly punched him in the side, "Idiot."

He winced far more than her light blow warranted and staggered slightly.

"Let me see it." She dropped her bag carelessly and pushed him toward the bed.

"It's nothing. Really. I'll get it when I get out of the shower."

"Now. Or I'll strip you myself."

He summoned up a suggestive leer. "That's my girl. Nothing goes with a little violence like a little.... oooopphh" The last of his words were cut off as she shoved him, albeit gently, to sit down on the bed.

"The shirt, Marshall, the shirt."

He stared at her, and for a minute, they had a brief and furious battle of the wills. Then he sighed and began to try to do what she asked. She helped him remove the jacket and she saw the rip down the side, tracing along his ribs, wet and glistening where some flying debris had grazed him during the action.

"Damn it, Marshall...." Her hands flew to the injury, gently probing.

"Take it easy. If it had been serious, _I_ would have let the EMTs see to it. _I_ don't have this grand phobia that _some_ people seem to have. It's just a big ugly scratch, basically."

"The shirt, goddamn now, or I will be ripping it off you and not in that way you dream about."

He smirked and started working buttons. "How the hell would you know what I dream? And why do you keep assuming that all my dreams have to have something to do with you?"

"Oh, I don't think they center on me entirely," she said absently, focused now on the wound that was being revealed to her eyes. She dug in her bag for her first aid kit, got out some disinfectant and some cotton balls, began to clean the area. He hissed lightly as the liquid began to sterilize the area, and she laid a gentle hand against his side, looked up to meet his eyes briefly, her thumb tracing lightly in apology for the sting.

_She's only ever gentle, only ever soft, when there's blood on the ground. She can only show that she cares when one of us is wounded... Ah, Mare...._

"Well, just so long as your ego is in the right place...." He tried to focus on something other than the pain, other than her capable hands repairing the damage done to him.

She looked up at him and smirked, arch. "Do you ever _really_ have to worry about my ego, Marshall?"

And he couldn't resist it. He reached out traced just the tips of his fingers over her cheekbone, tucked her hair behind her ear. Said it soft, husky, because his voice seemed to pitch itself that way without his being able to help it, "I worry about all of you all the time, Mare. That's what I'm here for." Their eyes locked and her hands froze on his side where they were finishing up cleaning out the wound and applying a waterproof bandage.

Then his fingers finished their motion and settled lightly on her shoulder. Her face flickered into a grimace of pain. His eyes shot to her shoulder and he quickly but gently pulled her up to sit next to him on the bed.

"Do we need to go through the whole song and dance, or are you going to let me see to it?"

She smiled, but it wasn't very convincing. "Sort of would be hypocritical at this point, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. More than a little."

"Hell." She sighed and tried to remove her jacket. Her shoulder had begun to stiffen up from its injury, and she looked at him with irritation and embarrassment in her eyes.

Without saying a word, he helped her slip the jacket off. What he saw underneath made him wish he could go back to that little nothing of a town and kill more of them. _They hurt her. They caused this pain to her. She's been bleeding like this for hours. _ This jacket was a loss. He'd throw it away stealthily in the morning if she wouldn't. The lining was completely bloodsoaked and some things a person didn't need to be reminded of. Her shirt had large bloodstain on it, too, and it would need to be tossed as well.

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "How bad does it look? 'Cause it feels like hell."

His lips quirked, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. "More or less the same from this angle, too. I'm going to need to see the wound itself to see if you need stitches."

She groaned and leaned over, placed her head on her knees. "Don't say the 'S' word, Marshall. No hospitals, no needles, no stitch-happy doctors for me today, please."

He gently pulled up her shirt, baring her back to him. "Let's see what we have. I'm not making any promises I can't keep."

_No,_ she thought idly, _you never do that, do you? You must be the only person I know, then.... _There was something terribly appealing about that, wasn't there?

She sat up as he set about pulling the shirt the rest of the way off. He used it to wipe away the blood from her back and what was still liquid around the cut on her shoulder. It was a clean rip, shallow, wide, nothing that would need stitches. He took up her first aid kit and prepared to sterilize the area.

"You need to hold your hair back out of the way for me if you can," he said. She obliged, using her other hand to pull the heavy curtain of her golden hair away, twisting it up and out of the way to leave her neck and shoulder free for him to work on.

She muttered a curse as the first of the liquid began to burn. He smiled, but only because he was sure she couldn't see him. When he had it bandaged and covered, he found that he was intensely aware of her. He sat just behind her, and while a moment ago, this position had just been the most convenient one to dress the wound, he was now aware that her bare back and his shirtless torso were close enough to touch, had been touching off and on for some time now and he had been reaching and stretching to treat her injury.. He was close enough to her, in fact, that if he leaned in just an inch or two, he could press a kiss to the exposed curve of her lovely neck or her now bandaged shoulder, could nuzzle her ear or catch the lobe between his teeth and give it a nip or a gentle tug. His breath sped up as images of all those scenarios crowded into his head suddenly as if some secret floodgate had been opened. His hands, so steady until just a moment ago, trembled slightly, and he laid them gently on her upper arms, squeezed softly in preparation for moving away.

_Got to get her away from me. Got to get away from her before I do something stupid...stupider...._

Suddenly she turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, and the eye contact made him blink. "So you think about all of me all the time, do you, Marshall? What sorts of things do you think about when you think about all of me? Satisfy my curiosity." She shifted and somehow one of her bra straps slid down her shoulder.

His mouth suddenly went dry. _That tone and...and....She's much too close, we're too close, I have to...I have to..._ The images in his head were carnal, graphic, sliding his hands slowly up her torso, down her, cupping, questing, her lips parting in pleasure on the sound of his name....

It occurred to him that she was waiting for an answer. He tried to gather the scattered pieces of his wits and scrape one together. There was nothing. All of his words and witty banter had deserted him. He could only say her name, "Mary...." His voice was low, hoarse. What was this she was doing now?

She shifted, turned on the bed to be half-facing him. She placed her injured arm just below his bandage, and he felt the contact as though someone had shocked him with a taser. Her eyes continued to hold his captive. He was acutely aware that they were sitting in bloody and tattered jeans, weapons still holstered, boots still on, but almost naked to the waist and that she was suddenly sinuous before him, that he was being stalked. He wasn't sure he had the power to resist this....

"Aren't you going to kiss it to make it better?" Her expression was perfectly serious, slightly challenging even.

_I can't stand it. I can't stand it. If I just do this, maybe she'll let me go...Maybe I can let her go...Maybe...._

With a shiver that traced through his whole frame, he leaned down and lightly, lightly pressed his lips to the bandage. Her eyes swept closed briefly.

"Is that a panacea?" He sat back, managed to find his words at last.

A tiny smile flickered, catlike, gone. "Mmm..." He felt her thumb circle slowly on his side. "You and your words....If that means makes it all better, then yeah. For just about everything, I've found." She shifted again, laid her other hand gently on his shoulder. Her tongue came out to wet her lips briefly. "Want me to show you?"

He was shaking. "Mare..."

She moved, and before he knew how to stop her, she was straddling his lap. His hands helplessly settled on her waist, unsure yet whether he should push her away or cling with determination. "I think I should show you," she said. _That tone of voice is a felony. It has to be.... "_After all, you're hurting too, aren't you, Marshall?" This was murmured inches from his mouth. One of her hands was braced on his shoulder lightly, the other was cupping his cheek. "I don't want you to hurt anymore. Let me show you..."

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't do anything except watch that beautiful mouth descend on his. And then she was kissing him.

---

Her first kiss was gentle, not teasing because she did not tease, but surprisingly delicate from this hammer-down, all-out woman. She felt Marshall trembling as she softly brushed her lips against his, again, again, with no change in the intensity or the pressure. She felt his hands slide down from her waist to cup her, strong hands spanning, pulling her against him.

She felt his heart pounding against her palm, could hear the shakiness in his breathing, and it made her want to throw him down, rip open his jeans and have what was pressed so firmly against her as fast and as hard as she could take it. She moved her mouth from his and buried it in the curve of his shoulder for a moment fighting for control. His hand came up to press lightly against her back, embracing her.

_When was the last time I was wanted this much? When was the last time any man fought this much need this hard? All the others would be ripping off what's left of the clothing and inside me now. But he's fighting this, fighting me, fighting himself. _

_Ah, by the little tiny gods there are, that makes me so hot for him I can barely stand it...._

She lifted her face from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. Those startlingly blue eyes were midnight now, and much more black than blue. They dropped down to her lips before coming back to meet hers again, helplessly revealing his thoughts to her. He shifted his hips instinctively beneath hers and she smiled in anticipation.

_Because partners share the good things and the bad things, Marshall. And that is a very good thing you have there. Let me show you something bad...._

She leaned down and took his mouth again. This time, there was less gentleness, less soft coaxing and more fire. He responded immediately, pulling her against him with a little groan from deep in his chest, the sound of a dying man just offered salvation. She opened her mouth, flicked her tongue against his lips, aroused and just a little amused by the depth of his response...until he slipped his tongue in to duel and dance with hers.

_Sweet holy mother of all the...where the hell did he...what is he...and why l am I asking questions when I just want some more some more some more....ohyesohyes...._

She felt as if she'd accidentally taken a step off a very tall tower and was falling through emptiness. She held to him, trying to get as close to him as she could, hands tugging at his hair, feeling herself pulled hard against him as if he, too, was also falling and straining for stability.

He broke the kiss this time, and she felt his mouth on her neck just below her ear, nibbling, kissing, and he began to work his way down. She simply arched back and gasped for breath, small noises of pleasure tumbling from her lips when he found the most sensitive spots on her neck and paused there. His hands cruised slowly up her body to cup her breasts over the bloodstained remnants of her white satin bra.

_And it's the blood that's stopping me, _he thought. _Why are you doing this, Mare? What are you using me for? How can I tell you no now when everything I have ever dreamed of is here for me to have, to touch, to take? _

He gently ran his thumbs across the peaks of her nipples, and he looked into her eyes. Hers slid closed in pleasure, and he leaned forward to press a kiss on her lips.

_But it's going to be some kind of lie if I take you this way, something less than what I really want. So..._

Then his hands were gone, back to her waist where they remained, still except for those thumbs which didn't seem to be able to stay still. She could feel them against her skin just above the waistline of her jeans.

Her eyes opened. "Marshall," her voice was a low growl. "There had better be a goddamn spectacularly good reason you quit." She rocked against him gently, watched his face tighten up, and felt his hands on her hips grip hard. She leaned in to fill his ear with her breath, "'Cause, believe me, I know you're not done yet." She sent one of her hands trailing lightly down his chest between them. He caught it before it got past his navel and twined it with his own. His fingers were shaking.

"Mare, why are you doing this?"

She looked at him, incredulous. "You're asking? You never heard that old saw about gift horses?"

He smiled just a little, didn't let go of her hand. "I know. Having you like this here and trying to use my brain makes me the world's stupidest man. I freely admit it."

"And I'll happily get you a trophy tomorrow... Meanwhile..." She reached behind her and deftly unfastened her bra with the hand he wasn't currently holding. _This should get his attention. Come on. Get back in the game. I need you, Marshall. _ Sure enough, his eyes were riveted to the now-exposed swells of her cleavage as her bra slowly slid down.

"You have no tan lines," he said irrelevantly, and then he shook his head as though he'd been hit hard and was dazed.

"Private pool, backyard lawnchairs," she said with a wicked grin. "You should come over some time." She took the hand he was gripping and brought it to the exposed swell of her breast, laid their combined fingers together over it. "You could help me make sure I get the sunblock....everywhere...."

His fingers slipped from hers to touch, but the motion wasn't what she was used to. It was gentle, almost delicate. _No grab and squeeze from Marshall. He touches me like I'm made of glass, like...like...I'll shatter if he's not careful. And oh God, I might...._ His caresses were soft, sweet, and they made her feel like something priceless. He had a look of something like wonder on his face, and she reached up to touch his cheek softly.

When he cupped the weight of her in his palm, she filled his hand perfectly. His thumb teased and circled her nipple gently, and she murmured his name, arching her back. He looked at her face, and with a soft hungry sound, he lowered his head. She felt the heat of his mouth, his tongue as he leaned her back, and she twined her fingers in his hair to keep him there. Her hips rocked against his as he suckled her.

"Please, Marshall, need you," she panted. "Now, dammit. Don't make me wait anymore." She met his mouth with her own, and she pushed him back toward the bed. Their hands were suddenly frantic as weapons were unfastened, denim was stripped off and boots were kicked away. Then, without knowing how it had happened exactly, he was running a hand down her, staring at her beneath him, golden against white bedsheets, and she was wrapping one leg impatiently around his waist. He was cupping her, tangling his fingers through damp golden curls to stroke the slick center of her as she made a little sound that was both pleasure and impatience.

"Now, Marshall, or so help me!" Her voice broke as he sank a finger deep inside her, plunged, on the next stroke added a second. Her back arched.

He leaned down next to her ear, whispered harshly, "Or you'll what? Tell me, Mare....or you'll what?" His thumb circled the swollen bud of her, sliding, sliding. He watched her eyes go blind. He held her as the orgasm took her under, hard, fast, a secret undertow ripping her off her feet and taking her far out away from land.

When she knew where she was again, she became aware of him holding her, of the length of him still hard, still pressed against her.

"Marshall, you didn't, you haven't...." She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he leaned down and kissed her, hard, fast, and with an edge of desperation to it.

"No. I didn't. I haven't." He moved to get up from the bed. "And I'm not going to."

She fought off the languor the orgasm had left. "What the hell, Marshall? What are you talking about?" She grabbed him before he could go, pinned him. He turned his head away.

"Mare, you need to let me go."

"Not until you explain yourself. I... we... you...and then you're going to get up and walk away like that? Didn't you understand that this offer was mutual? Didn't you understand that I want you?"

He sighed. "I understood that you wanted _somebody_, Mare, that you needed somebody. I also understood that I happened to be the one that was handy. Like you said, you needed somebody to kiss it and make it better, the gunfight, the corpses, the witness and her rosary, that squalid little town, all of it. I know what you needed. It's okay."

She felt herself go very, very still. _I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I may even be pissed about this because I think he's right about this, and I don't like what this makes me, and I don't like that he knew this about me and I didn't...._

She looked at him lying there beside her, his face so open, so honest, somehow suddenly so _beautiful_, and something inside her clenched uncomfortably. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear again, that same gesture he'd made earlier when he'd told her that he worried about all of her all the time, and then he got up. She let him. He headed into the small bathroom and she heard the shower come on.

_But he's too worked up not to have some relief. And it's not right to leave him to suffer alone, to the discipline of cold water,to the frustration of waiting, or to the dubious pleasures of his own hand. _

A pair of lines from _Romeo and Juliet_ started chasing through her head, a fragment from her forgotten high school dramatic career: _"Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" / "What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?"_

_He gave you satisfaction. He took care of you. _Her body still hummed from it, her toes curling.

"_Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"_

_He's in that shower now. He couldn't possibly run away from you in the shower. And you need to get clean, too, you know._

"_What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?"_

She stood up, strode to the door, walked in. He hadn't bothered to close it. There was no steam. _Cold water. I could have laid money down on it. My little monk Marshall. Hopefully you're not too far gone to revive just yet._

She pulled back the corner of the curtain to see him leaning against the wall, back to the chilly spray, eyes closed, body shivering slightly. She reached down, adjusted the water temperature.

"Mare, don't. I can't keep telling you no forever." There was an edge of desperation to his voice.

"Then why the hell don't you quit trying?"

As the water warmed, she slipped in, wrapped her arms around him. His arms came around her convulsively.

She kissed him, and he kissed her back, that same despair underlying the kiss. Steam began to fill the small bathroom as she gently took the soap from the little ledge and with a washcloth thoroughly washed them both. She took the time to really look at him for the first time. He was lovely, this partner of hers, tall and slender, the power of him concentrated in his shoulders and his thighs. He was built like the swimmer, like the runner that he was, and she explored the subtle carvings of his muscles. He stood still, allowing her to do as she willed. Blood and dirt washed away, spiraling down the drain.

_God, we should have done this first. Better to be clean. Better to start clean. _

His body was still erect for her, still straining into her touch. She finished washing him and simply held him close for a time. She could feel him against her belly, hard, perfect, and she felt her own desire stir again.

She stroked down his flat abdomen gently, softly. His hands were on her shoulders, avoiding the injured area. He simply left them there, grounded birds.

"Touch me, Marshall," she whispered. "It's okay."

"Mare, I..."

With a soft sound, he brought his hands back down to her breasts, cupped them, kneaded them gently. Against her, his erection pulsed and grew.

"_What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?" Any kind you want, Marshall. Any kind you'll let me give you. Almost there. Almost there. I won't leave you unsatisfied, gentle man..._

Her hands finished their slow tour of his flat belly and slipped through the dusky trail of hair that led to him. She slid her hands around the shaft, and he jumped slightly and sighed, buried his face in her neck. She began to work him with firm, unhurried strokes, and for a time he simply stood and let her touch him. She felt him kiss her neck from time to time, and she knew he was fighting an internal battle of some kind.

_To hell with this. I can help you win this war, Marshall. We'll both win._

She pressed him gently back against the wall and she kissed his chest, her hand still stroking, caressing. Her next kiss came lower, nearer the bandage he wore on his ribs. Her next flickered her tongue into his navel, and his eyes flew open. She smiled up at him, sinking down onto her knees in the warm spray of the shower.

"Kiss it and make it all better, right? It's my turn."

His hands slid helplessly into her hair.

"You don't have to do this..."

_Exactly._

The first swipe of her tongue across him had him stuttering. The third made him obscene. The fifth took him beyond words all together as she drew him deep and kept him there until he was gone, knees going out and folding until he, too, knelt beneath the spray, embracing her, kissing her as if to stop would be to die.

* * *

**Okay, part one of the backstory complete. This ain't all folks, but I think you can see how this might confuse somebody and sort of gum up the works a bit if she's still a marryin' Raph....**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: My quotes this time seem to be running more toward classic rock. Oh, the places the muses take me.... Thanks to everyone who's reading this little endeavor! Your feedback is keeping me giddy. I'm so grateful for all the kind reviews. I hope you'll be patient with me and keep them coming. On with the show.

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**

I saw her today at the reception  
In her glass was a bleeding man  
She was practiced at the art of deception  
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands

You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
But if you try sometimes you just might find  
You just might find  
You get what you need

~ "You Can't Always Get What You Want" Rolling Stones

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Mary woke up the next morning curled snugly into her customary ball on her side of the bed. She became aware of three things at once. First, she was starving. In the frantic events of the previous evening, getting food had gone by the wayside. Second, her shoulder was killing her. It was stiff and sore, and when she shifted slightly, it sent stabbing little pains up her back that woke her up enough to notice the third and most crucial issue. Her hand quested idly over to the other side of the bed seeking....and not finding.... She was alone. The warm hotel duvet was tucked neatly around her, the curtains were pulled closed, and the room was empty. She rolled over, ignoring the strident cries of her shoulder, eyes searching the shadowy corners of the room. Marshall was gone.

_Oh no. Oh shit. Oh, this is really, really bad. Where is he?_

She sat up, hands convulsively clutching the bedspread to her. In the dim light of the room and from her current angle, she could not tell whether or not Marshall's gear bag was still at the foot of the bed, and she felt a sudden and horrible thrill of something very like fear course through her. Wild and irrational thoughts spun through her head.

_Pushed him too far... we went too far...he's mad, he's gone, he's actually left me... they all leave, they...._

Just then, she heard the key card snick in the lock, and then the room door swung open spilling light into the darkness. Marshall stepped in, a paper sack in one hand, newspaper tucked under that same arm, and a cardboard carrier with two coffees in the other. He negotiated the door trying to close it gently with the awkward load in his hands and looked up to see Mary staring at him wide-eyed from the bed. He paused minutely. It was only a fraction of a second, a hesitation so tiny that only someone who knew him as well as Mary would have seen it, but saw it she did, that briefest of moments as he glanced down at the paper bag in his hands and then back up at her again.

"Glad you're finally up," he said, something like his usual smart-aleck grin appearing. "Thought I was going to have to let housekeeping make up the bed around you this morning." He passed her one of the coffees, opened the top of the bag and proffered it so she could take what she wanted the way he always did. His easy manner did not remotely touch his eyes. There was something wild and desperate in them, something like a caged bird fluttering and beating fragile wings against brutal and bruising restraints there.....

She wrapped her hands around the coffee and for a moment, she just stared up at him, ignoring completely the bag of pastries. "Marshall...." she began, but there seemed to be no good way to finish that sentence. Now that he was here, now that she was face-to-face with him again for the first time since they'd stumbled in from the bathroom and collapsed together in a damp heap, a whole new set of problems presented themselves. After last night, what were they now? What did he expect from her? What did she expect from herself? She could feel her engagement ring around her finger suddenly, the metal of it somehow icy, heavy, pressing into the styrofoam of the coffee cup and her hand sharply and uncomfortably. She felt a profound sense of unease sink in to her like a chill at the bone on a hot day.

Those blue eyes missed none of it, and the smile that had been at best a bad replica of his usual teasing one turned a little sad. He shook the pastry bag again. "Here. Get some breakfast. I got your favorite. You know you can't resist your favorite."

She narrowed her eyes, looked away from him into the bakery bag. He had, indeed, managed to procure apple fritters from somewhere, and they even looked and smelled fresh. Her stomach growled, and she really wanted it, but.... She looked up at him again.

She knew she should just let it go. He was giving her an out. He knew she didn't like to talk about feelings, knew that she was the "doing" partner and that he was the "thinking" one. He was offering her not just breakfast but normalcy with that outstretched bag, a chance to sweep last night away and pretend like crazy that they both hadn't crossed a line.

_Be fair. It would be more precise to say that he's giving you a chance to pretend that you didn't latch on to him with both clawed hands and drag him over one. You gave him no options. He told you no and you kept going just like you always do because no wasn't the answer you wanted. You need to leave this alone now. If he's willing...._

She couldn't leave this, though. That look in his eyes compelled her into danger. If anyone was hurting him, even if it was she herself, she had to try to make it right no matter what the personal cost. Therefore, even though she knew she was not going to like this answer....

"Marshall...is it ...okay?" She wasn't talking about the food. They both knew it.

He looked down at the sack of pastries, sighed, walked over to the table and set his burdens down. He extracted one of the sweet apple fritters and put it on a napkin, brought it back over to the bed, sat down on the far side from her, put it on the bedspread in front of her. She continued to wait for her answer. She could outstubborn stone columns if needed.

He didn't fiddle or fidget as some would have before that gaze. He was used to her, didn't quail before the mighty Mary Shannon. He was simply still a long time before he spoke. "It's fine." His tone was deliberately light. There were only those two words, was no further elaboration from the same man who, unless reined in, would give a twenty-minute oration when asked what time it was.

"You're sure?"

His head was down, and he began to stroke one fingertip idly over the pattern on the duvet, one, twice, and then he forced himself to stillness again. "Yes. You...had... a need. And don't I always get you what you need, Mare?" He shrugged one shoulder, carelessly, still looking down. "You're my best friend. That's how it works, right?" In theory, he _could_ have been talking about the pastries..... He stood suddenly, grabbed his packed bag from where it sat waiting by the door and the newspaper from the tabletop.

"I'm going downstairs to wait for the Texas crew to show up with the vehicle. I talked to one of them about fifteen minutes ago, and they were supposedly in route then. Take your time with breakfast and...whatever." He made a vague gesture toward the bathroom, pinkish color just faintly tinging his high cheekbones. "I'll call if anything noteworthy comes up." He met her eyes for the first time, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. Then the door was softly closing behind him and she was alone again with with nothing but her chaotic and guilt-tinged thoughts, the apple fritter he'd provided, and a hotel room filled with memories she was afraid were going to haunt her indefinitely.

---

They managed to reestablish the rhythm between them that both of them depended on, and most of the time on the job neither of them was plagued with thoughts of that Texas night. In the still moments, though, when their minds were not occupied with life or death matters or with the banter they kept between them, that tiny room crept into their memories.

Mary, lying next to Raph and trying to be gentle about pushing away the hands that had reached for her in sleep for the third time that night to hold, to restrain, would try diligently not to allow her mind to compare the way those same hands had caressed her earlier to the way Marshall had touched her as if she were precious beyond all price.

She was careful not to let Raph know anything had happened. He, of course, noticed her wound, and he quizzed her mercilessly about it. He attributed her more-than-usual irritation at his interrogation over it to her continuing unwillingness to talk to him about her job. Never once did he connect the color in her face to anything other than anger. He did not question the fact that sometimes she came home and made love to him as if she were trying to prove something to both of them, either.

Marshall, sitting at his desk during the day, would watch her pull her hair up and back as she got ready to head to the gym for a late-evening workout, and the memory of that other night and what the baring of her neck had begun would make his hand tighten on the edge of his desk, tighten around the handle of his coffee mug., and he'd look away, afraid his eyes would betray him.

Still, in all, they were recovering. They were stealing fries from each other's plates, hurling spit balls across the office, going out after work for one last beer before going home, baiting each other with ridiculous and pointless little jokes to ease the stress, working together to plague Stan and Eleanor or get revenge against the same duo, kicking in doors in tandem, and calling each other "Idiot" and "My Girl" again. They were fine, really. At least that's what they both chose to believe, chose to repeat to their own reflections fervently when the temptation to look at the other as something more than just "best friend" or "partner" revived itself.

And who knows? As strong-willed as they both were, they might even have been successful with their efforts had what happened next not occurred....

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**Well, they can't all be monster installments.... More is coming. Promise.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So...there was a bit of grumbling of the cliffhanger. :) I just couldn't resist. Sorry. I will try to make up for it by updating faster than usual. Hopefully, this will soothe you. We begin with a flashback to the 80's, at least musically.... (Oh, and btw, they're not mine, not the Marshals, not the songs, none of it. I'm just having fun....)  


* * *

**

The lights are on, but you're not home

your mind is not your own

your heart sweats, your body shakes

another kiss is what it takes

You can't sleep, you can't eat

there's no doubt, you're in deep

your throat is tight, you can't breathe

another kiss is all you need

Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh Yeah

it's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough,

you know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love....

~ "Addicted to Love" Robert Palmer

* * *

"You know what, Stan, there are parts of this job that wear really thin after awhile. You two geniuses _really_ couldn't figure out some other way to get this done?" Mary was staring at Stan with a look that boded ill for him.

Stan was unmoved. His cheerful and slightly insouciant smile never wavered. "I don't think I need to have Eleanor sign you up for a hearing exam, do I, Mary?"

She glowered at him and folded her arms, muttering.

"Right. Okay then. So the two of you will be Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Shepard, I took the liberty of blending your two aliases for this little excursion, for the next forty-eight until we can get Maribel and Ruben safely to and from this wedding party. It's been arranged that Mari and Ruben are bringing you as out-of-town relatives who are visiting, I believe, Mary, you're her deceased sister's child this time around. All the arrangements are set for you to go, let them be a part of the ceremony, and get them back. There should be minimal risk. Nobody has been near them now for five years, and the wedding party has been thoroughly vetted. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Why the hell I keep getting myself into these situations." This question, muttered and rhetorical as it was since Mary had been the one to bring Ruben and Maribel Castillo's request to Stan in the first place, was ignored by everyone else.

Mary continued to glare holes in her boss but was stonily silent. Marshall was staring at his computer screen, scrolling through page after page of information he'd just been given about the new situation trying to familiarize himself with the guest list for the wedding itself. He glanced up at Mary and Stan and shook his head.

Mary tried again. "Stan, really...this whole 'pretending to be married' thing is asinine. Nobody in their right minds would think that he and I are married." She gestured vaguely toward Marshall, her engagement ring catching the light softly. "I mean, come _on_...."

Eleanor said, "HA!!" loudly enough to be heard by everyone and turned to begin filing reports from the previous days' efforts by WITSEC officers.

Leaning back against her desk, Mary turned her irritation on one of her favorite targets. "Something to say, Eleanor?" Her tone was saccharine.

Eleanor looked back over her shoulder, eyes narrowed slightly, bating little grin on her lips. "You know what, sometimes, the shot is just too easy to take. I'm refraining in the name of good sportsmanship."

Mary bared teeth in a gesture that was most definitely not a smile. She sidled over to Eleanor's area. "Oh no. By all means. I insist." She held her arms out wide as if to present an easy target.

Stan and Marshall looked at each other and rolled their eyes, but otherwise, the two men wisely remained still so as not to be dragged into the fray.

Eleanor spun her chair back around fully, eyes sparkling with the light of anticipated combat. "Well, since you _insist_.... I was just going to tell you that most people who meet you two for the first time think you _are_ married. Or at the very least romantically involved." She smiled smugly to herself and began to straighten up a pile of folders.

"Huh? What? Why?...." Mary looked at though someone had smacked her with a hammer between the eyes, and she struggled to maintain the antagonistic mien of a moment ago. "Why the hell would they assume that he...and I...."

"Because nobody else but a husband would possibly put up with you. Or that's the conclusion everybody comes to. They think it would require some kind of legally-binding vow....."

Mary threw up her hands and looked at Marshall. He raised his brows and pulled his eyes away from the computer screen, smug little grin already firmly in place. "What can I tell you? She has a point. The lady has a point. Why _do_ I put up with you, Mare? Somebody remind me?" He looked around the office as if for an answer.

"Who asked you, numbnuts? And what is this, Gang Up on Mary Day, and nobody told me? Jesus...." Mary stalked back over to her desk and started flipping through her own paperwork. But she kept sneaking glances over at Marshall.

---

The wedding in question was being held in a tiny town very near the border. Maribel and Ruben's son was getting married, and the whole thing was happening in the bride's hometown. Ruben and Maribel had brought two children with them into the program ten years ago; now their youngest son, Pablo was the one taking a bride. Mary had started working with the couple and their children about the time that Pablo was finishing high school. Now, he was about to graduate from college, about to start his adult life with this new woman by his side, and Maribel and Ruben were all aflutter with pride and anxiety at watching him go.

They were riding down in the car together, and Mary was listening to Maribel twitter over the wedding preparations, tuning in and out and giving the appropriate responses that seemed required. Her mind was on other issues. For the next two days, give or take depending, she and Marshall were going to have to pretend to be a married couple. That meant a shared room, something they hadn't done since Texas all those many months ago.

More than that though, it would mean pretending to be married and doing it convincingly enough not to raise any eyebrows about why they were there. They'd done this shtick a hundred times, but not for days at a time, and not with this...history...between them. She glanced over at Marshall. He looked back at her, his eyes questioning but totally unconcerned. Normal.

_Shit. Now I'm shying at shadows. Get a grip on yourself. What is past is past. We're both adults, and we can do this. _

---

The first night was the rehearsal dinner. It was a lavish affair including a huge meal and dancing. Maribel and Ruben were swept up into the heart of the action, but they never forgot to make sure that Mary and Marshall were taken care of. Marshall found it touching, the way Maribel would send someone around to make sure her favorite "niece" and her "husband" were kept in the heart of the events. Maribel was a kind-hearted woman who had managed to keep that generous kindness even after she and Ruben had wound up pursued by contract killers after Ruben had decided to stop helping launder money for a crime syndicate in New York. She was one of Marshall's favorites on his and Mary's circuit.

Mary and Marshall tried to plead off the dancing, but after the meal, everyone, simply everyone danced. Maribel and Ruben, the ancient_ abuelitas_ on the bride's side, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen, the _tias_ and _tios_ that had come up from Mexico, the young, the old, everyone danced. Mary and Marshall would have made a conspicuous exception, and they could have hardly pled illness and not caused a scene.

Maribel came by full of happiness, embraced them both, saying, "You must dance. Come on. It will make an old woman's heart happy. Come on. It will be such fun!"

Mary smiled. "Maribel, quit talking like you're ancient. You're fifty if you're a day."

Maribel was not to be deterred. "Come on, don't be a killjoy. Marshall, make her dance. You know how, I'm sure."

Marshall looked up. "Just what in our experience would make you think I can _make_ her do anything?"

Mary narrowed her eyes, shifted her hand into a loose fist. Marshall just grinned his most irritating smirk, undaunted.

They lost the battle of wills with the mother-in-law-to-be, however, and they found themselves out on the makeshift dance floor with everyone else, happy quick-tempoed music swirling around them.

Marshall held his hand out, head cocked just a little sideways in question. He wasn't sure if Mary was going to permit this. Mary, as a general rule didn't like to be held, didn't like to dance when she was on the job, and then there was also.... He brought his mind up short just before it dipped into the forbidden pool of memory.

Mary slapped her hand into his with an irritated sigh and slung her other up to his shoulder. "You _do_ know how to do this, right?"

_Yeah. No need to worry about any of that, then. _He laughed at himself a little inwardly, his lips quirking with the amusement. "Um, sort of. You forget I grew up out here...." And he led her into the steps of the dance with a grace Mary didn't expect at all.

---

They'd been dancing for hours. Mary had lost track of the number of songs, the number of times she'd changed partners, been spun away, chatted to the friendly members of Itzel, the young bride-to-be's, family, and then been returned to Marshall. Her feet were starting to hurt, and she was starting to get a little tired even though she had to admit that as far as protection duty went, this was not the worst she'd ever had.

She'd looked up to see Marshall with several different women in his arms, too, including one of the wizened abuelas. He'd led her with care, and she'd been talking a hundred miles a minute in Spanish. She'd watched him respond, marveled again at his skill with people, with the unexpected demands of situations like this one, with language, with seemingly everything.

Mary wasn't the only one noticing Marshall tonight. One of the bridesmaids, a beautiful young woman with curves that wouldn't quit and a definitely predatory gleam in her eye as she inched just a tiny bit closer than propriety mandated, had corralled him early on. She moved, in Mary's professional opinion, like Jello on a plate, and she was making sure Marshall got a good eyeful. Mary had felt something protective in her stir, but after all, Marshall was a big boy and he could take care of himself. He seemed to be having a good time, too, so Mary put a chain on her inner guard dog and did her best to focus on her own dancing partner.

Now she looked across the room again to see the same young woman again in his arms. The thing inside her that she had been calling protectiveness flared into something else that she would not name as the girl ran a fingertip down the buttons of Marshall's shirt. Marshall had been looking down at her with a calm and humored smile, laughing at something she'd said, but when she began to touch him, Mary saw Marshall blink. She knew that blink. Her geekish partner had just become aware that he being pursued, that he was desired, and he, bless him, wasn't quite sure what to do about it. The girl had slipped her hand up from its chaste position on his shoulder to the back of his neck to caress. Mary growled low in the back of her throat. _I fucking know what to do about it. _

---

Marshall had a problem. The bridesmaid he'd been enjoying dancing and chatting with had turned into a live wire in his arms. He hadn't intended things to turn that way. Yes, she was lovely, sultry, intelligent, ...but she was _probably_ all of twenty-two. And he was here on a case, pretending to be married to Mary. And she was taking her finger now and... _oh crap_... He caught her hand as she tried to perform a maneuver designed to confuse and distract the most focused of men.

"Um, Alessandra," he began.

"Call me, Ali," she purred, leaning in close enough to his ear to fill it with her breath.

"Uh, yeah, okay, Ali. I think maybe I've had enough dancing for one night..."

"Oh, but Marshall, there's so much night left to..._dance_...in..."

_Only the very young can say stuff like that and not sound stupid. I need to get away from this girl. This situation has got to end now, but how do I get out of it without being rude or making an ass of myself...well more than I already probably have...._

And as if someone had answered his unspoken plea, Mary appeared beside them, a savage little grin Marshall knew all too well on her lips.

"There you are. Wondered where you got off to." She looked Alessandra up and down dismissively. "Mind if I cut in? No? Good." She gave the pouting Ali a light shove that sent her tottering slightly on her heels and pulled Marshall against her. She looked over her shoulder at Ali who was glaring at the pair of them. "Sorry, _chica_. This one's all taken. Run along and find your own."

Ali smirked, crossing her arms in a gesture that accentuated her ample chest, tossing her hair and muttering just loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby, "He didn't feel so taken a minute ago...."

_You want to play it that way, you little tramp? Okay. They do say actions speak louder than words...., _thought Mary.

Mary's eyes cut back to Marshall who was standing with his arms loosely around her. His eyes met hers and he realized what was about to happen only seconds before she moved. He tried to brace himself for it, but, really, there was no way to insulate himself for what was coming and he knew it. He took a deep breath and....

Mary slid her hands up around his neck, into his hair, pulled head down even as she angled her own and she kissed him. He had enough wits about him still to spread his hands and pull her tight, but then all sensible action fled him and instincts awakened in Texas and beaten down since then flared brightly. He gave a little inaudible groan as he began to kiss her back, and for the two of them, the rest of the room dropped away from under their feet. There was only the strong steady beat of the music, the steadying feel of each other's arms, and the forbidden and long-denied sweetness of the taste of each other's lips.

* * *

**Oops, did I make another cliffhanger? Bad me. Bad, bad me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I just can't quit writing this story. It's got its teeth into me. Here's another dose. The music this time is more recent.

* * *

**

Don't you think I want to

Don't you think I would

Don't you think I'd tell you baby

If I only could

Am I acting crazy

Am I just too proud

Am I just plain lazy

Am I, Am I, Am I, ever

'Cause I'm jealous, jealous again

Thought it time I let you in

Yeah, I'm jealous, jealous again

Got no time, baby

Stop, understand me

I ain't afraid of losing face

Stop, understand me

I ain't afraid of ever losing faith in you

~ "Jealous Again" Black Crowes

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They were in their own private little world until they became aware of the hoots and catcalls of the crowd around them. They broke slightly apart, each still tasting the other, breath coming just a little too fast, eyes locked and searching, silent communication passing between them. Marshall, in a gesture that unlocked a whole flood of memories for her, brushed his hand gently across Mary's cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. She turned her face into the caress ever so slightly. He slid his hand down to hers, linked his fingers together with hers, and they turned to face the appreciative party guests around them. Maribel and Ruben were among those who were cheering and clapping, and neither Mary nor Marshall missed the enthusiasm they used.

---

The party ended, and everyone eventually drifted away to their lodgings. Many of the guests for the wedding, Mary, Marshall, and their two witnesses included, were staying in the town's only little hotel, a quaint well-kept building within walking distance from where the rehearsal dinner had been held. Mary went on to the room while Marshall finished checking in with Maribel and Ruben for the night. He was gone a long time.

His absence gave Mary time to think about the events of the evening, about the scheming girl and her presumptions, about the feel of Marshall's strong, good body in her arms, of his responsive, hungry lips moving against hers again, of that desperate, slightly wild little noise he'd made deep in the back of his throat when he'd begun to kiss her back.... Worse still, there was that look that had been in his eyes when they'd pulled away from each other. It was exactly the same light she'd seen the day they'd thrown her that stupid surprise party in the office and he'd lifted that glass of champagne and said....

She threw the pair of pajamas she'd pulled out her bag on the bed with a curse and began to pace. She was confused, frustrated, and trying to deny something she was uncomfortable with, and so of course, she was turning to her old standby, anger. She'd always found, after all, that the best defense for everything in life was a good offense....

By the time Marshall opened the door carrying a bag, she was ready for him.

"You took your sweet time. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to go out and start checking under bridesmaids for you." Her tone was acidic, ready to attack given the slightest provocation. Knowing Mary, that provocation could come from ill-considered gesture or word. He'd unknowingly walked into a minefield filled with unmarked claymores....

He looked up at her in surprise, quickly assessing her mood and trying to determine the cause of the oncoming storm he saw in her body language in and the hot gold of her eyes. This was not the same woman he'd walked back to the hotel with, arm in arm, softly chatting. He'd been looking forward to a peaceful evening of talk with her, of a continuation of that feeling of connectedness they'd had leaving the rehearsal dinner. Part of his foolish heart, a very small, hopelessly romantic part he was doing his very best to beat down and ignore, might even have been said to have been wishing for more.... Now, though, all that faded away in light of the savage mood he saw displayed in every line and angle of his partner.

"Well...I just got done talking to Mari and Ruben...and they loaded me up with some stuff to bring back....so....it took a little while. I guess I wasn't aware I was on a set schedule." He walked across the room and put the bag down, deciding to ignore the dig about Alessandra. Perhaps she could be placated with food.... He dug in the bag, taking out two bottles of beer and two large chunks of the chocolate cake from the dinner that Mari had wrapped in foil for them.

"I do come bearing gifts, so maybe I can be forgiven for my tardiness?" He held out the bottle of beer to her, eyebrow raised.

She crossed the room and snagged the beer from his hand, scowl still on her face as she inspected the cake. "Chocolate probably saved your ass. You know that, right?"

He grinned slightly. "It's been known to work before." He sat down at the table, opened his own beer and watched her as she settled across from him, began to eat the richly-frosted cake with the plastic fork Mari had stuck in the bag.

_I should probably leave this alone, but... _"Want to talk about what got you so worked up while I was gone?"

She stabbed her fork into the cake, ate another mouthful, shook her head, before she responded. "See, that's the problem with you. You won't just let the chocolate do its job."

He smiled, took a sip. "Maybe I like living dangerously."

"Well, clearly," she said laughing just a little, leaning back in her chair and studying him with eyes that were still glittering. "We've been seeing that all night, haven't we?"

Marshall felt his own carefully-controlled temper flare, and he was unable to let this swipe pass. _I didn't do anything wrong tonight, except maybe...._ "Mare, what's _with_ you? I haven't done anything tonight worthy of you slapping at me, so quit it, alright? I know you're not happy with this assignment, but there's not a whole lot I can do about it just now. It's not exactly a pleasure cruise for me either, okay? I know it's hard, but..."

"Oh, well, yeah. I saw you suffering for the job tonight. Must be pure hell to have teenage bimbos falling out of their dresses on you and trying to give you hand jobs."

_What the hell? If I didn't know better, I'd say she's.... But that's ridiculous. Isn't it? And anyway, I'm tired of this. I'm not putting up with it for another twenty-four._

"She was twenty-two" _I think_ "and I didn't do anything to provoke any of that." Marshall knew his voice was rising, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself.

Mary leaned across the table. "Notice you weren't doing that much to stop it, though, were you? Just one of the unwritten little perks of the job, eh, Marshall?" Her voice was laced with innuendo.

He shoved away from the table and walked away to the window. Marshall always kept a careful leash on his temper. It was just as hot as Mary's when it was finally fully-roused. It just took far more to get him going since he didn't see everything in life as a challenge or insult. He was going now, though.... He was silent in his fury for a minute before he spun back to her, her slightly gloating expression just ramping up his anger. "You...she...I....you _know_ that's not what happened.... you _know_ I'm not that way..."

Mary stalked over to him, poking him in the chest with a single finger. "All I know is what I saw, Marshall, and that infant was wrapped around you like a two-dollar hooker."

Marshall turned to look out the window, laid his hands on the hotel's industrial draperies and struggled for control. "Even if that were the case, which it most emphatically is not, I fail to see why it's any business of yours."

Mary bared her teeth. "Jesus Christ, Marshall! It's my business because we're on a case here and our cover is that we're supposed to be a married couple! You're going to put Mari and Ruben in danger just to get your hands on some tight, firm young ass?"

Marshall turned his head back to her sharply, eyes wide as if he'd been physically struck. She would question his dedication? His honor and his commitment to the job? "You just can't let it go, can you? Alright, Mare, I have a question for you then. Maybe you need to ask yourself what it is exactly about Alessandra that offends you so much...."

"I think I already made that clear..."

"....that she might have made somebody look at this little charade we have going here and ask questions..."

"Exactly. What the hell have I been trying to say?!"

"...or that she made you do the same."

Mary simply froze. Her voice when it came out was ice. "What the living fuck are you talking about? You better be really clear and you better be really quick when you explain, or I'm not going to be responsible for how many pieces housekeeping finds you in." Her eyes were wild, frantic as they locked on his.

"You want an explanation? Fine. You're not mad because I somehow theoretically threatened to expose the witnesses. You're pissed because for five seconds somebody else was playing with what you consider to be your personal toy."

"Have you just lost your entire mind? You're saying you think I'm....jealous?" She spat the word out like it was the worst obscenity ever conceived. She got right up in his face to deliver this. He could feel her breath against his face, and his detail-oriented mind duly processed the smell the chocolate on it.

"I'm saying that's exactly how you're acting. I'm saying you keep bringing up Alessandra over and over again when you know...."

"....Oh, good God, _Alessandra_," she mimicked.

….. you _know_, I didn't initiate that encounter and that...."

"Yeah, but you weren't exactly shoving her away, were you? Just how far would you have gone if I hadn't shown up, Marshall? She already almost had her hand down your pants...."

"...I would have handled it. I can handle some things, you know."

"_Sure_ you can. I'm sure you both would have enjoyed it, too."

He shot his hand through his hair in frustration and turned away from her. He grabbed the bottle of beer from the table and walked toward the door. He laid his hand on the knob but he did not turn. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"Mare, I'm not fighting with you about this anymore. It's going nowhere. You're not mad about the girl herself as a person. You're not mad about some crap about what the girl made me feel. She didn't make me feel a damn thing, and if you'll be honest with yourself for even five minutes, you know that.. You're not mad at me because I somehow betrayed Mari and Ruben with that girl. You're mad about what the girl made _you _feel." He raised his hands to forestall the angry retort that he knew was coming. He glanced back over his shoulder. He looked exhausted. "I'm done. I'm going out for awhile. I'll...be back." And he left.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So...that last little bit wasn't what most people were expecting, apparently. What was it you all thought they'd be doing in one of _my_ stories? I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.... LOL..... One more before the weekend officially ends.

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Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight  
Lead me out on the moonlit floor  
Lift your open hand  
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance  
Silver moon's sparkling  
So kiss me

~ "Kiss Me" Sixpence None the Richer

* * *

Marshall tossed the beer into the trash in the hall as he went. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Movement felt good, felt necessary. The idea of being caged into the tiny box of it was temporarily intolerable. At least with walking he could make forward progress. There was none to be had in the room he'd just left, the situation he'd just left. Once he got to the lobby, he headed for the great old-fashioned glass doors. He needed to clear his mind and the fury that gripped him. His long legs ate up ground. He took a turn around the town square, went around again, still feeling the sting of Mary's words chasing him.

_Does she really believe that I'm capable of turning my back on duty to run after a woman, no, a child, like that? Does she really not know me at all? _

He kicked a stray pebble in the street in front of him, watched it skitter down the empty pavement and disappear.

_No. She can't really believe that. Not after all these years. But somehow it's even worse that she can say it not believing it. Damn, she knows how to go for the soft underbelly better than anybody I've ever known. It's like some kind of inborn thing. _

He thought about her, about the way she behaved, about her family and her upbringing.

_Maybe it's not inborn. Maybe it's a survival skill she had to pick up in that house full of misery. I don't know, but I sure wish she wouldn't turn those sharp teeth and claws on me. They go right down to the bone...._

His eyes turned back to the hotel. The cool of autumn was in the air, and he was really actually very tired after a night of dancing and drama. It was late. He didn't want to walk any more, but he wasn't ready to go back to the room. He could see the light was still on in their window. He knew which one was theirs just as he knew which already-darkened one was Maribel and Ruben's. It was what he did.

He turned his steps toward the little package store on the corner. _Think I need that beer after all. Maybe even something a little stronger....._

_---_

Two hours later, he was sitting in the darkness by the hotel's little pool in an huge old-fashioned metal double sunchair finishing the fourth beer in the six pack he'd bought. He had, after it was all said and done, refused the temptation to buy anything more potent. The man behind the counter had looked him up and down, taken in the wedding band he was wearing and the fact that he'd walked over from the hotel alone at this hour and with the gloomy expression he was currently wearing, and made some sympathetic comment about women. Marshall had only been able to smile, nod in agreement, and throw down some cash. He really didn't want to talk about it with Mary, and he certainly didn't want to get into it with some shlub at the package store in the middle of the night.

He looked at the luminescent dial on his watch. Two a.m. He sighed. The beer had relaxed him as had sitting in the chair and staring up into the night sky looking for constellations, something he enjoyed doing at home. The raw edges of his hurt and anger were gone, and he felt like he could probably go back upstairs and endure whatever type of Mary lay in wait for him.

_Because really, the only other option is spending the night in this chair, _he thought, as it creaked and groaned as he shifted his weight to rise. The green-and-white striped cushion on it wasn't made for an allnighter. _And I don't think I much like the idea of somebody having to pop every joint in my body back into place for me in the morning if I do..... _

_Still, maybe just a little more time down here won't kill me. _Across the sky were streaking irregular little trails of fire from a meteor shower, and his imagination and his active curiosity were captured by them. He stared up into the darkness above him and marveled.

---

Which is just how Mary found him, arms and legs pulled up, chin on knees, staring upward into the canopy of stars above him with a look of weary wonder. She leaned against the doorway of the hotel lobby that led out into the darkened courtyard where the pool was for a moment, just watching him watch the world. The last of the anger she'd come downstairs with evaporated, and she felt her lips curl ever so slightly at the image of her partner sitting there surrounded by empty beer bottles looking at the stars. He looked just a little bit lost there so alone, and it tugged at her heart that he was out here because of her, because of their argument earlier.

She'd gotten undressed earlier, actually laid down and tried to sleep, but when he hadn't come back, she'd risen, paced, cursed, sworn she wasn't going to look for him, flopped back down, thrashed around under the covers, and finally thrown on her jeans and her shoes along with her pajama top and robe and headed downstairs to the front desk. The woman there had smiled the smile of a person who has seen everything twice and told her that she'd seen Marshall head out to the pool area several hours ago. No further curiosity had been expressed as she'd gone back to typing away at her reservations terminal.

Mary crossed the cracked concrete of the pool apron silently, but even with four beers in him, Marshall was a U.S. Marshal. Instincts honed to keep himself and others alive registered her approach automatically. He turned his head toward her, taking in her mixture of clothing without comment. He didn't even raise that mobile and mocking brow. She paused at the edge of the chair, waiting for an invitation. He continued to look at her for a moment, and he sighed and slid over to one side, resumed his vigil of the sky above. She sat down next to him, pulled her feet up, followed the direction of his gaze.

For a long while, they were silent. She spoke first.

"Gonna tell me what the hell it is I'm looking at here?" Her voice was soft. "'Cause all I see is a bunch of little tiny lights, you know...."

His mouth quirked, almost as if against his will. He still didn't look at her. "Doesn't have to mean they're not enjoyable that way, too." He fell quiet again, his hands rubbing his arms gently to ward off the cold of night. He recognized the opening for what it was, her peace offering, her invitation to him to share his knowledge, something she rarely did without snark, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out and take it yet.

She tore her gaze down from the ceiling of stars and fixed it on him. "Marshall, about...about earlier...."

_I don't want to have this conversation with her. I don't want to keep having this same damn conversation over and over and over.... Why can't we just stop? Why can't something about it just change? It just makes me so tired...._

About that time, a streak of fire brighter than any he'd seen so far during the night blazed across the sky, a true shooting star. He tracked it with his eyes, and he heard Mary's indrawn breath. She grabbed his arm in startled reflex.

"Did you see that? What was that one? Was that a shooting star? That was...beautiful."

He turned to look at her, at the excitement on her face as she peered now into the sky, and something in him relented. He couldn't keep her away, couldn't shut her out even though that would be the smart thing to do tonight when all his defenses were low and when his own emotions were in such conflict over their argument earlier. He couldn't look into the face of the woman he loved and deny her. It was, he knew, the flaw that would one day come back and devour whatever was left of his soul...

_So be it. If she can reach out, so can I. _

"That was a meteorite. At this time of year, the Earth is moving through a belt of them, so we get sort of a free light show in the night sky."

At the sound of his voice, she turned her head and looked at him, glad to hear him speak at last. "So no wishes off a meteorite, then, huh?" She searched his face, his eyes, for signs that things could be okay, that they could be okay.

"Sure, go ahead and wish. They're what most people call shooting stars, anyway." He waved a hand magnanimously. "Do you find yourself in need of a wish, Mare?" He uncurled from the little ball he'd been in, lay back against the sunchair, stretched out, stared up at the sky. "What would you wish for if you had one?" His eyes sought hers in the semi-darkness.

She looked down at him from her seated position. "What? I only get one?"

He laughed softly. "Greedy. Okay. In all the stories and myths, I think the customary number is three. I hereby give you three. What would you wish for, Mary Shannon? Wish wisely and well."

She hesitated a moment, and then she stretched out beside him so she, too, could look up at the stars. He held his breath as she nestled herself next to him, the smell of her shampoo assaulting him as she tucked herself into the side of his body in a motion that had been as natural to them as breathing until very recently.

_Put it aside. Don't go there. Don't remember. Don't yearn. So there's stars and talk of wishes and you're a little tipsy. You don't have to go there, Marshall....._

He surreptitiously tucked her closer to him anyway. She didn't seem to notice.

"Hmm..." He felt the vibration of her voice like the purr of very large cat vibrating through him. "What would I wish for?" The sky above them glittered like a curtain of diamonds as she pondered. "Well, first, I'd wish for my family to get their collective acts together and out of my damn house, I guess."

Marshall snorted. "Might take more than a handful of stardust to accomplish that one. Next."

She grinned. "Well, you didn't say we had to limit this to the realm of the possible.... Okay. Next. I would wish that...oh, I don't know...um...that Eleanor had to undergo some kind of personality transplant so she'd be tolerable, oh, oh, and that she'd have to like bring me coffee every morning just the way I like it and call me Mary, Queen of the Universe, too....."

He laughed outright briefly. "Now, come on. You're throwing them away. What about world peace? Global warming? On a smaller and more personal note, your car? Those holes in your wall?"

She waved a dismissive hand. Her smile faded. "You're right. None of those things are what I'd really wish for. You said I only got one anyway. You want to know what I really wish, Marshall?" She rolled her head over on the striped cushion and looked at him.

He matched her motion to meet her gaze, his little grin still lingering but starting to fade as he realized whatever it was she was about to say was something serious. He tried to forestall it. He didn't want to do any more serious tonight. He was happy just like they were, her warm and content for once next to his side, the world a little softer and a little fuzzier thanks to the alcohol he'd consumed. "What would you wish for? No, wait. Let me guess. You want the moon. I'll go get it for you. You want a handful of those stars. Be right back. I think I saw a ladder over there in those bushes...." He made as if to get up and she pushed him back down.

"Sometimes you are not just an idiot, you are their sovereign king." He blinked up at her, grinning. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. "I would wish that I never had that stupid argument with you tonight, Marshall. I would wish that I never said those horrible things to you and made you run out here to the cold darkness and the starlight. I would wish that you and I could go back to that moment when everything was good between us and start things again...."

"Mare," he said, trying to stop her, trying to keep words from being spoken that would shatter him, would cut grooves into his heart that he would never be able to fill.

She would not be deterred, though, and she placed her finger lightly over his lips. "Just listen to me, okay, just listen. This is important to me. Let me do it. I need to do this. You were right. I won't say that again, so revel in it. I was...what you said I was. And when you left, I started thinking about why. I didn't like seeing that ridiculous Latina Barbie with her hands all over you. It made me want to rip her hair right out of her head and beat the living hell out of her. When I realized that, it scared me. And you know I don't do scared well...."

His heart was racing, but he smiled against that finger still against his lips. _No. She doesn't._

She removed her finger from his lips, and she lay back down beside him. He didn't know what to do or what to say now. He shifted slightly on the cushion, uncertain now about...everything.... He tried to shape words, to get some kind of answer together for what she'd just told him, but his mind refused to cooperate. Thoughts danced like the shimmering lights above him; ideally, they should be fixed points, but....

Then her voice came to him softly again. "Marshall..."

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Could I possibly stop you if I tried?"

She snorted, swatted at him lightly. "Do you ever....think about...Texas?"

_How the hell do I even begin to start to try to answer that question? I'm right back in the minefield. What kind of answer does she want? Is this a part of going back to the time when everything was good? Does she want me to say, "No, never," and then we both perform an act of deliberate lying to each other and ourselves about it here under the stars? Or is she asking me for the truth? Oh, Mare, some topics were probably better left alone, especially when I've been on this rollercoaster one too many times tonight.... _

He tried to dodge. "Do I ever think what about Texas? That it's the Lone Star State, that it's the home of the Alamo, that it's the largest in the lower continental United States, that..."

"Marshall..." Her voice carried the slightest tone of irritation lacing through the amusement. It was such a familiar sound to him.

He sighed deeply and stalled, "I...What kind of answer are you looking for here, Mare? I don't know what to say to you. I don't want us to fight anymore tonight, and this has that potential written all over it....."

She rolled her head to look at him. She was so close to him. She was too close to him for them to be talking about this.

"No more fights. I promise. I want the truth from you about this. That's all I ever want."

He studied her for a moment. _What the hell, right? She's asking for the truth, and I think I've had just enough to let her have what she wants. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free...._

"I...yes. Yes, then. I do think about it. I think about kissing you. Okay? This may not be what you were hoping to hear, but it's the truth. I think about what it was like to touch you, to be with you. I think about it all the time if I don't stop myself." His heart was pounding in his ears when he finished. He could actually hear it. Adrenaline rushed through him, preparing him for some primitive fight or flight response.

Something flared in her eyes, something unexpected and bright. She flopped back down beside him and was absolutely still for a long moment. He was cursing himself mentally for actually telling her the truth when he heard her whisper it.

"Me, too. All the time."

---

Five words. Five words were all it took to unhinge his mind. Five words softly whispered into the chilly darkness of the star-shot air. The portion of his soul that loved her seized them like a mad creature with a treasured object and clutched them to itself, bared teeth, threw back its head and howled savagely. _She thinks about it too, she thinks about it too, she thinks about kissing me, and touching me, and...and...._

She shifted beside him, looked over at him, and he saw again that brilliant light in her eyes shimmering also there with a question. Alcohol, months of stringent denial in the face of constant stimulation and temptation, and those five whispered words shredded every doubt, every fiber of self-control, and every good intention he might ever have been able to muster in other circumstances. He rolled to his side, stroked her hair back away from her face lightly and left his hand resting lightly against her cheek when the motion of his hand was done.

"So you think about all of it all the time, do you, Mare?" he whispered.

She nodded, smile appearing briefly as she recognized his reference to that other night, her comment that had started the events that changed their relationship for better or for worse, for good. She brought her own hand up to cup the back of his neck.

"I do, yeah," she murmured, angling her head in invitation.

He smiled and he brought his mouth down to meet hers gently, gently, a feather brush when what he wanted was to devour her whole in a rush of heat and desire. Her fingers slipped into his hair as he softly tasted her.

He pulled away slightly, looked into her eyes again, all traces of the smile gone. "So what sorts of things do you think about when you think about it all the time, Mare?" He stayed there, just above her, a breath away only separating them. _Choose, Mary. Choose. But I'm not getting up and walking away tonight. No more running away. No more martyrdom of denial. You want me, too. You think about all of it all the time... and oh God, so do I...._

She saw it all in his eyes, understood what he was saying, understood, as she always did with this man, this pause. He saw determination and something else that made him tingle all over flash hot in her eyes. _Look, another shooting star...._ Her hand tightened in his hair. _Doesn't that mean I get a wish?_ "Let me show you." She tugged him down. _Guess so....

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**Try not to throw things. Review instead! I'll make it up to you next time. Promise.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Well, there was no barrage of heavy objects, and I appreciate it. Even more than that, though, I appreciate all you wonderful readers and your kind reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying this one. I am, too. The song at the beginning is very, very long. It's the almost the entire thing, and I don't normally do that, but to me, it fits perfectly. It might almost have been written for Mary and Marshall. If you've never heard this one by Chris Thile, I can't recommend it highly enough.**

**(By the way, the rating for the chapter is M! for Mature, My Goodness, and Oh My, Mary and Marshall! If you don't like that, skip this one. Suffice it say, um...here there be Pie.)

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I'm scared of your body  
and I'm scared of your soul  
But I'd rather be letdown  
Than let being with you go.

I am yours if you want me  
you can see I'm not mine anymore  
it didn't take much to drive me crazy  
I guess I wasn't that sane before.

I don't care about my future  
and I don't care about your past  
Those things come from and lead to right now  
and they can get the hell out fast.

So I am yours if you want me  
And you know what now I think you should  
'cause I want you to be mine so bad  
I promise I will make it good.

~ "I'm Yours If You Want Me" Chris Thile

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There under the stars, she pulled his head down those last few inches, and she lifted her mouth to his, letting him know she understood, letting him know that tonight neither one of them was going anywhere alone. For long moments their kisses remained gentle, sweet, but the tension in both of them was winding itself tighter and tighter, a watch spring being twisted to the point of breaking. He was supremely aware of everything around him, the cool breeze rustling the last of the dry leaves clinging to the trees, the soft liquid sounds of the water in the pool, and every minute change in her breathing and movement as their lips glided against each other.

Desperately wanting more, he traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened instantly for him with a needy little sound that made his hand in her hair clench. He deepened the meeting of their mouths, slid his tongue in against hers, rolling slightly to lean over her more fully. Mary wrapped herself around him, pulled him close, pulled at him until he was lying on top of her, met him insane and drugging kiss for insane and drugging kiss.

He slipped one hand down from her hair, found the edge of her robe, pushed under it to find the firm plane of her abdomen beneath the warm bulky fabric. She purred her approval against his mouth, curved her body toward the touch. Her own hands slipped down his back to begin pulling the edge of his shirt free from his jeans and belt....

He covered the mound of her breast over the thin cotton of her sleep shirt, and her nipple was already peaking for him, pressing into his palm as he caressed her gently. She skimmed her nails lightly across his now-bare lower back in response, brought one leg up his, a little sound of pleasure escaping her. Her kisses gained fervor.

_Like it when I do that, do you, Mare? Oh, there's more... I've been wanting this forever. What about if I ..._

He gently plucked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, and she arched beneath him, breaking the kiss, exposing the line of her throat as she gasped, clutching at his shoulders as if she needed something to anchor her. Unable to resist the temptation, he pressed open-mouthed kisses there, skimming his teeth across the tendons of her neck. Her hands came up to tunnel through his hair as he flipped open the robe fully, pressed nibbling kisses across her exposed collarbone, lower, nuzzled her lightly, lightly through the fabric of the shirt.

"Get there, Marshall," she gasped.

He smiled, his wicked fingertips circling over the sensitive peak as he raised his head to study her reaction. "Always the threat with you, always the demand." She was panting slightly, eyes narrowed as she looked at him, but as he touched her, her eyes swept closed, and he saw the strained pleasure on every line of her face. It made him never want to stop this slow play, this miracle of finally touching her the way he wanted to. It made him want to pin her and fuck her immediately, hard.

"You keep teasing me like that, and I swear to God, I refuse to be responsible for the consequences...." her voice breaking off as he leaned down to flick the tip of his tongue against her, wetting the thin layer of fabric.

"Promises, promises," he murmured, coming up to taste her lips again. She attacked his mouth, her frustration and want tangible, incendiary. He tore his mouth away and lowered his head, at last sucking her nipple deep and laving it the way he knew she wanted. She cried out, wildly clutching at him. Her hips twisted under his with ancient demand, and he fought the need just to rip down the denim that covered her and bury himself in her. It had been too long. His control was beginning to go. He let his teeth just graze her....

Suddenly, with a groan and a neat maneuver, Mary flipped Marshall over so she was astride him. She leaned down, hair making a curtain to hide both their faces as she pinned his hands down to either side. "Listen," she whispered in his ear.

"What? Conversation?" he groaned. "You expect coherent conversation _now_? And you stay on me about talking too much at the wrong time...." He reared up under her, and she tightened her hands on his, rested her forehead against his, laughed a little.

"Yeah, yeah... I do have a point....You know I'm sort of an adventurous girl, but did you _really_ want to do this here? 'Cause I figure we've got about another minute and a half to make that judgment call before we hit the Who-Gives-a-Shit, Fuck-Me-in-the-Pool-Chair-Anyway point of no return." She sat back slightly to study his face.

He looked up at her, and despite the depth of his need, he felt the grin coming. He couldn't help it.

"So that's an actual line of demarcation, is it?"

She smirked down at him, let his hands go, rocked her hips once lightly on his lap, revenge for his earlier move, and his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her. He pulled her tighter against him with a hungry groan. "You tell me." She leaned in, unable to resist, sucked his bottom lip gently, pulsed her hips again, pulled back.

"Y...y..yeah. Yeah. I'd say you're right." _But I'm not so sure I'm not already across it...._ His hands slipped up from her hips under her thin cotton shirt to cup her breasts, letting the heavy firm weight of them rest against him palms, stroking his thumbs over the nipples again, again, again...

"Marshall..." Her tone held both need and warning. He ignored her, sitting up against the backrest of the chair and pulling her forward, pulling up her shirt to expose her to the starry sky. For a moment, he just looked at her in the dim light, devouring her with his eyes.

"You are so beautiful, Mary. Do you have any idea how many nights I've dreamed about touching you again?...how long I've remembered...." He reached out and he ran his back of his fingers tenderly over the curve of her breast as though he were tracing something made of delicate eggshell porcelain. She could...not...breathe.... A sound of need escaped her, her previous ideas for going inside evaporating.

His eyes met hers for just a moment as he drew her toward his hungry mouth. Her toes curled as he suckled her slowly, thoroughly, deeply. She sighed and her head fell back as she watched the stars fall, reveling in the sensation of his kisses, the steel-ridge of his erection she could feel pressing impatiently against her despite his control. He rolled them over again, looked down into her eyes as he did, and what she saw there she could not, would not name. He moved his attentions to her other breast, and she ground her teeth together as he slipped his fingers down between them to cup her through the denim of her jeans.

The sunchair creaked plaintively under them as they writhed. Somewhere within the hotel, there was the sound of a door closing loudly, and on the second floor, a light came on in one of the bathroom windows, spilled down over them. Some slight shred of sanity came back to him.

He raised his head, looked at her. She was something straight out of one of his secret fantasies, hair tumbling, mouth swollen from their kisses, eyes half-closed, head rolled back as she clung to him. Her nipples gleamed in the sudden glow from the wetness of his mouth, and that slight sheen alone was almost enough to make him disregard everything else.

_But, Mare, you're right. Let's not do this here. There' s perfectly good bed upstairs, and privacy and warmth. _

He reached down for the reserves of restraint, gently leaned forward and kissed her, tugged her shirt back down, fingertips trailing down her ribcage. "You still game for taking this upstairs?"

She ran a hand over his face, down his chest, lower, and smiled cat-satisfied as he let out a hissing breath. She leaned in to whisper, "Marshall, I'm for taking _this_ wherever I can get it.... but yeah, let's go." They stood more than a little unsteadily, leaned into each other, stumbled toward the door stopping every few feet for a kiss, a touch. "The faster we get inside there, the faster I can get _you_ inside _me_."

Marshall groaned, pulled her against him, plundered her mouth, pulled away and whispered in her ear in tones that made her knees go weak, "The things you say....Just what makes you think this is going to be fast?"

They tried to cross the lobby with some decorum, but then she was sliding her hand up his bare back under his shirttail, and he retaliated by cupping her derrière, pulling her to him before the elevator doors had even closed. She laughed and murmured against his lips, "You think I don't know how to move things along?" Her hand closed around him through his jeans again, stroking, fingers teasing. He pressed his face into her shoulder, body shaking in response, a low sound escaping him. "I always get what I want, Marshall," she purred, filling his ear with a hot whisper.

He caught her hand, pulled it up to his lips, kissed the palm. "You want to be careful with that, Mare. It might get you into trouble."

She looked at him with a little challenge in her eyes. "Reeeally?" The elevator doors opened and she headed out toward their room. She allowed the robe to slide down off her shoulders as she arrived at door, turned around to face him, and he could see the outline of her breasts through the shirt, nipples hard-peaked through cotton still wet from his own mouth. "Do you promise?"

He reached around her to slide his key into the lock, hands catching the sleeves of the robe and twisting them to trap her hands as he opened the door and backed her inside slowly, step by step.

"Absolutely."

---

Inside the room, they divested each other of their clothing quickly, tossing garments onto or behind whatever surface happened to be in the way. They tumbled onto the bed, hands sliding, grasping, seeking.

Marshall rolled her beneath him, mouth fervent on hers. He slipped one hand between her legs to where she was wet and aching for him, stroked, slid it over her once, again, again. Her nails bit sharply into his shoulders. The tiny little pain only fed his need.

_Mine, mine...she's mine now, mine tonight, and I don't even care about tomorrow. Going to have her, going to take and have...._

He took his hungry mouth down her neck, across the swell of her breast, her cries driving him on. He slipped his hands under her back, and she fell backwards into a graceful bow as he kissed her abdomen, her navel. She pushed at his head as she murmured broken, wicked, graphic phrases of encouragement and desire.

He pushed her legs wide, parted her with his thumbs, _need to, going to know just this once, just this once what she tastes like, _and he laved her with a long, strong stroke of his tongue. His name fell from her lips like a curse, like a prayer, and he did it again. Her hips rocked underneath him, helplessly.

"Oh God, Marshall, yes. Don't you stop..."

He groaned low in the back of his throat. _Better than honey wine, better than...than.. anything...Won't stop...can't stop.... _It was a madness, a compulsion as he swept his tongue over her again and again and she writhed beneath him, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his hair as sensation washed over her. He thrust a finger inside her, hard. She was clenched around him with a gasp, and it made him grit his teeth at the sensation of her, tight, hot, as she shuddered, came instantly, her overstimulated body seeking immediate release.

He kissed his way back up her as she recovered, giving her a moment, but then she was reaching out for him, wanting more, twining her strong legs around his hips to pull him down, and he was resting there against her at last, breath coming hard, hips hitching slightly, hands running up and down her in little caresses, gestures he could not control. Their eyes met, held, and she sensed he was, despite other intimacy shared, everything else that had passed, waiting for some kind of permission, some kind of sign from her.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Now, Marshall." She kissed him. "No more waiting. Right now."

And he buried himself to the hilt inside her with a sound that Mary would never, ever be able to forget, holding himself pressed hard and deep for a moment before his own long denial put urgency in the rhythm of his hips. He fought the rising tide of pleasure. _Gotta make...make it last...so good...only want more... _He was trying to delay the end of this sweetest of tortures, trying to record every sigh, every taste, every sensation so he would have them forever, and as he watched, Mary's body suddenly tightened again with her own orgasm. Her voice breaking over his name and her body greedily milking his own peeled away that self-restraint and shattered him across the altar of ecstasy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: It's been awhile, but they're back... I keep getting distracted by other things. First there was "So...Is She Seeing Anybody?" and now there's this other little rabbit kicking around in my head brought on by a comment from the last episode. It's nice to have a muse, I guess, but I wish they'd slow down a little!**

**To everyone who's reading and responding to this one, thank you so much. I love to know what you think of my little scribbling. Your responses really do keep me writing. It's a small update this time, but I figured small is better than none. More is on the way soon.**

* * *

And it's like, every time I turn around  
I fall in love and find my heart face down and  
Where it lands is where it should  
This time it's like  
The two of us should probably start to fight  
Coz something's gotta go wrong  
Coz I'm feeling way too damn good, oh  
Feelin' way too damn good

"Feelin' Way Too Damn Good" – Nickleback

* * *

Morning light crept slowly into the room as if it were hesitant to disturb the slumbering pair twined together under the hotel coverlet. Their postures in sleep were telling. Marshall's arm was draped around Mary's waist, and his body was curled protectively around her. From time to time, his hand minutely and softly flexed against the bare skin of her abdomen as if reassuring his dreaming mind that she was really still there. Despite her general loathing for being held when she was conscious, without her waking mind's rigid defenses in place she had slipped her hand into his possessively, wrapped her calf around his, snuggled back close against him as if she, too, somehow found security and comfort in contact.

Both of them usually woke before their alarms went off, having that mental ability of anticipating the ring and getting up beforehand. This morning, however, they'd both been up far too late the night before, and the lack of sleep had deprived them of that early start. They were both still deeply asleep when the alarm began to buzz on the bedside table. Marshall tightened his grip on Mary briefly as he came awake, felt her stir, but then he rolled slightly to switch off the alarm. Mary made a sleepy, grumpy noise at the disturbance, but the corners of her lips turned up against her will as Marshall returned, buried his face in the curve of her neck with a low, humming, contented sound, burrowing into the spill of her hair there.

They lay for a few more minutes, gently drifting, intertwined fingers softly sliding against one another, neither one wanting to break the precious silence between them or stir too much for fear that they would tumble out of this warm and lovely dream and land back in the realities and loneliness to which they were far more accustomed to waking. Wakefulness grew, and with it, Mary grudgingly acknowledged the passage of time. Even though she'd set the alarm early as was her custom, they would soon have to get up and face the day before them.

She shifted in Marshall's arms, rolled to face him, rested her head on his shoulder. His eyes were half-closed as he smoothed one hand down her back, settling her against him as naturally as if he had done it a million times before. She fit there as rightly as if she had been made for it, carved from the same material, a matched piece finally fitted back into the same set after all this time. _Jesus, I'm starting to sound like him now..... _The thought of that made her smile, something soft, light, unfamiliar fluttering around her heart.

Unable to resist the temptation, she leaned up and brushed her lips across his. She wanted, more than anything just at that moment, to see the reaction in his eyes when she did it. He didn't disappoint. The eyes that had been almost shut were suddenly gazing steadily back at her, last remnants of sleep disappearing like clouds from the sky, and in them she saw what she was coming to crave, what she was beginning to need....

_There it is. Beautiful. He looks at me like...like..._

...what her deepest heart rejoiced in, but that she would not name, not even now. She saw reflected in his eyes herself as the burning center of the universe, the heart of worlds; she saw her true value to one who knew her and took her for what she was, her best and worst, all-in- all. It shook her to her core.

And despite that, despite the invitation of her kiss, despite the fact that they lay together so intimately now, he didn't move toward her. He lay still except for his hand against the small of her back, the fingers of which were very, very softly circling as if all his secret impatience and desire had somehow been captured there.

_But Marshall doesn't pounce and grab. Oh, he wants alright...._ She could feel the firmness of that want rising to make itself known.... _but he's waiting again, wants **me** to choose. _She felt a little amused frustration at the predictability of it, at her understanding of him. _Ah, Marshall, don't you understand I already made up my mind about this? Maybe I need to make it a little more explicit.... Maybe I need to help you make up yours._

She leaned up slightly on her elbow so she could look down into those fathomless eyes. She gently pushed his tousled hair back from his face, cupping his cheek. He didn't move except the continued motion of that restless hand on her back. He was watching her, waiting, waiting....

She lowered her mouth to hover over his, not a kiss, not quite, for just a moment, relished his reaction as he turned his head to meet hers in anticipation, as his eyes became that hotter blue she now yearned for. She then moved away and pressed a chaste kiss not to his lips but to his cheek instead, followed by another to his forehead. He smiled, and again she felt that delicate and fragile flutter.

She brought her lips back to his again, close but not touching, let her hand run down his neck slowly, across his chest to rest over his heart, enjoy the strong beat of it. His eyes flickered down to her mouth, back to meet her own, and he let out a breath of frustration as she again moved to press a silly little kiss, this time the tip of his nose, instead of what he truly wanted. His hand on her back flexed, closed, open, stilled.

_Come on, Marshall....come on.... You play, too._

Once again, she paused at that tantalizing distance, looked down into his eyes, smiled at him just the tiniest bit, waited...and was rewarded for her patience with a little growl his hand slid up her spine to cup the back of her neck, twist into her hair and pull her down to meet him for the long-denied kiss at last.

* * *

They were almost late for the wedding. They slipped in the back door of the church and Maribel looked around to see them, her anxious expression fading into a pleased smile as she took in their body language, the guilty little blush on Marshall's cheeks. He raised one hand in a tiny wave, and Maribel minutely shook her head from her position of honor in the front pew. Mary pulled Marshall down on the wooden pew next to her, and although she glared at him when he took her hand in his, she didn't pull it away.

The bridal march began, everyone stood, and in swept the young bride, resplendent in white. The service progressed, and the priest spoke words that were familiar to everyone there, young and old, binding the couple in matrimony. Before the formal and ceremonial words, however, he made a few remarks of his own.

"Marriage today is taken far too lightly by far too many. We all know of those who lacked the proper commitment to their partner, who based their marriages on ephemeral emotions rather than the sturdier stuff of true trust and dedication. We must only hope that as these two young people stand here today, they will use the love they have to build on as a foundation for the hard work and sacrifice that will be necessary, as a base for the true commitment to the promise they have made to one another that will provide for them the life together that they have dreamed of."

He concluded his informal remarks, swept into the words of the set ritual, and then the happy couple were suddenly racing out of the church into the reception, and everyone began to file slowly out of the church after them.

Marshall turned to Mary who was still seated, staring up at the altar at the front of the church, a pensive and sad look on her face.

"Mare...are you okay?"

She seemed to shake herself from her reverie, and she smiled at him, nodding, and stood to walk with him out of the church. They spoke lightly, chatting, but he was aware of the sudden strain underneath. He was also acutely conscious that the smile she had given him wasn't the smile he'd woken to that morning, that she no longer leaned into him as they walked, and that her hand no longer sought his as they stood side-by-side at the reception.

She slipped away from him during the party, and although he knew she was gone, he kept searching the crowd for her. He tried to fight down the rising sense of the inevitable that was bubbling up inside him, but he already knew what was happening. He found her back in their hotel room as they were getting ready to finish preparations for the return trip. He paused in the open door just for the pleasure of watching her for this one last moment, just for the luxury of delaying what he knew was coming next.

She was sitting on the end of the bed staring down at the ring on her hand, rubbing at it absently with her thumb, deep in thought. Light from the window made the gaudy set glitter as she twisted it back and forth, back and forth, as though it were somehow constricting her. Her eyes rose to his as he crossed the small room.

"Marshall...."

"I know. We need to talk, right?"

She laughed, a choked and mirthless sound. "Worst words in the English language....right."

He sat down beside her, his heart slowly turning to stone inside him.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: It's a Margo Channing Chapter, folks ("fasten your seatbelts"). You have been warned. I'm having to try a new form of scene breaks. I hate that I can't use my old ones. Sorry about these. They're intrusive to me. It's a work in progress. Part of "Once a Ponzi Time" will be retooled for my own nefarious purposes, btw.

* * *

**

Don't stop thinking of me,  
Don't make me feel this way,  
Come on over here and love me,  
You know what I want you to say.  
Don't be cruel to a heart that's true.  
Why should we be apart?  
I really love you baby, cross my heart.

"Don't Be Cruel" ~ Elvis Presley

* * *

I.

Mary had fled the reception because, once the priest started talking about true commitment and honoring marriage vows, she'd looked down at that ring on her finger, and despite the arched ceilings, suddenly there had been no air in the entire room. That little band of metal on her hand had somehow begun to burn and tingle as she'd looked at it there currently nestled as it was on her finger linked with Marshall's. Her fiancé's gaudy diamond ring on the hand being lovingly and gently caressed and held by her partner and best friend who was now also her new lover..... Nausea had risen along with a splitting headache, and she fought the urge to rip her hand out of Marshall's in a panic that would surely attract attention.

_Oh God, oh God, what have I done? What do I do now? I've made promises, serious, lifechanging-type promises, for-better-or-for-worse promises, I've given my **word**...and...and....last night, I...this morning, I.... I stepped out on them. I'm not a cheater. I don't goddamn cheat, but last night, I.... I've become what I hated him for being. How did this happen? How did I go so far? How could we have....._

As she always did when things went sideways, out of reflex she looked at Marshall, her partner, the one who always grounded her, who always helped her out of pits and snares, but there was no comfort in looking at him now. Now that familiar face was no island of refuge; instead, fresh waves of mixed guilt and something else she did not understand swept together over the gunwales of her already-sinking craft. Another voice spoke in the back of her head, cold, honest, brutal, unrelenting in its tactical analysis of the situation.

_You know how. You said it yourself, you always get what you want, and you've wanted his hands on you, wanted to touch him again since Texas.... _

Through her traitorous mind ghosted the sensation of the warm spray of a shower and the intoxicating taste of him, the sight of a sky full of falling stars and the contrast of cool night air and hot kisses on her exposed skin, and that sound Marshall had made when he entered her the very first time. She wanted to throw her hands up over her ears, as though that warding gesture would stop the flood of memories. She felt as though the ring on her hand had turned into a white-hot beacon flashing out her infidelity for all the world to see.

_But I'm supposed to be marrying Raph for God's sake! _Her eyes riveted on the glowing young bride in her virginal dress._ That? That's supposed to be me up there in front of that altar someday soon. _She ignored the sick flip her stomach gave, the panicked surge of adrenaline, attributed it to the situation at hand, her disgust with herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she again skimmed the profile of her partner, took in his high cheekbones, the blue, blue eyes, and as if he were aware of it, he turned his head slightly, locked his gaze with hers questioningly. She turned her head, stared back, hungry, for just a second more for...._for what? What the hell is it you think you're going to see there? Absolution? Answers? No. You made this fucking mess yourself, Mary Shannon. And now you're going to have to figure a way out to clean it up that won't leave three bodies piled up on the floor....._

When the bride and groom flashed past her toward the reception, she was aware of Marshall's scrutiny, but she couldn't pretend that she wasn't shaken. She held together the best she could, and as soon as she was able, she ran back to the hotel room and sat for a long time simply staring down at her hand and the tiny piece of metal that was coming more and more to feel like some sort of shackle than any sort of promise of future joy.

II.

And so he found her there waiting, still contemplating that constricting symbol on her hand. And so he came into the room to sit next to her, folded himself beside her on the bed, and for long minutes despite the agitation in them both, neither one spoke after those initial words.

He finally took her hand in his again, folded it between his to stop the compulsive motion, unable to stand watching her twist the ring over and over again, back and forth. She jumped just a little, startled by the touch, and he felt the sorrow inside him grow at her reaction. She did not, however, pull away from him, and so he counted what meager blessings he was given.

"Mare," he said, soft, coaxing, the voice he'd use with a horse that was spooked, with a child that had been frightened. "Whatever it is, you know.... it's... okay, right? Just tell me what's wrong." _Because I already know, don't I? Because I'll tell you whatever you need to hear so I don't...lose you...._

She could not look at him. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes when she said it. For long moments, she simply continued to stare at her hand in his, frustrated by the comfort she felt, by the rightness of it, craving the peace just that gave her, wanting somehow to just lock the door and crawl into his arms and forget the world outside this place was real. _Damn. Damn this. Damn him. Damn me. Oh most definitely, damn me...._ Finally she dredged up words from somewhere, felt them like broken glass cutting her open even before she forced them out.

"Marshall, last night ..."

His hand tightened on hers. "You don't have to say anything. It's okay, Mare. I understand. Look, I wasn't at my best, clearly, and I should have gotten up and...."

She finally raised her head looked at him, pinned him with her gaze, and the anger and incredulity in it startled him momentarily. "You think you're going to take the blame for this? You're really going to sit there and try to take this on yourself? Jesus, Marshall, not even you are going to be able to whitewash this one for me. Come on." She jerked her hand from his, pushed off the bed to stand near the window, stare out unseeing.

He let her go. "Mare," he said gently, "we were both there last night as I recall. If there _is_ blame, and I'm not so sure there is, then I think I do have to have some share in it....."

She laughed again, that same bitter, broken, horrible bark of humorless noise he'd heard when he entered. "What commitments did _you_ break, then, Marshall? Who did _you_ betray last night?"

He fell silent, mind racing. _Of course, of course this is the way it turned... Guilt is practically second nature to her, although she doesn't usually let other people see it. It's why she keeps Brandi and Jinx in the house. It's why she agreed to marry that useless lump in the first place. She usually channels it into anger, but honor and duty are the cornerstones of who she is, and she now thinks she's violated a promise. Oh God...._

Marshall stood, crossed the tiny space to take her shoulders in his hands, turn her to him. She resisted. "Mare, Mare, listen." She had to listen. Had to. He felt his pulse pick up. There was no telling what she might decide to do, no telling the lengths to which she might go in her quest to right what she perceived to be her "wrong" if he didn't find a way to turn this, control this right now.... "You stumbled. That's all."

And how just the saying of those words ate at his soul. There had been no stumbling. There had been no fall. He knew it. For the first time, there had been only grace and flight, only mercy and wonder.... Saying this was like denying a miracle one had seen with one's own eyes. She was still pulling away, pushing him back.

"Stumbled, Marshall? You make it sound like I broke a cheap glass in the kitchen sink or lost an old set of keys. _I slept with somebody else with an engagement ring on my hand. _What does that even make me? You know what that makes me...." She looked up at him, eyes angry, hurt, desperate. Her hands came up to grab at his jacket lapels, clutch there for support.

He couldn't help it. He couldn't stop himself from gently smoothing one hand over her hair, pulling her forward gently against him. He couldn't stop his heart from crying out in both pain and happiness when she quit resisting him and allowed him to hold her there ever so loosely, ever so softly. A million answers crowded into his mind, but he stopped himself from saying anything but, "Human, Mare. Just human." _This is not the time to ask her to examine that. She'll break. She'll shatter. She's not ready. _And he put his bleeding heart carefully away once again to try to be what she needed.

She leaned against him, against that unfailing strength and acceptance, against that calm understanding of her when she didn't even understand herself, hating herself for doing it. _Weak. Even now you still...._ She pushed away suddenly, dashed her hand at her eyes as she turned. "I can't tell him."

Marshall stood still, bereft, knowing that was the last of the closeness she would allow him, mourning its loss. "No." _Because even though he was once "human," too, probably more than once, if the truth were ever really told, he would never, ever allow you to have any peace; he'd beat you to death with it slowly, twist the knife.... _ Something dark stirred in his soul, a ribbon of something dangerous spiraling through him. He took a deep breath.

She looked at him again. "Marshall, about ...us...." The tone was different now. He heard in her voice unspoken questions, fears, things she could not say. There was something very like an apology in her eyes, hesitation, dread....

He forced a tiny smile, shook his head. "We had a wild night and we strayed off the path a little. No worries, Mare. Human, remember? It's okay. _I'm_ okay. _We're_ always okay, right?" He saw the relief bloom in her eyes, and something clenched around his heart hard, painfully tight. _And so help me, we will be, even if it requires daily bloodletting on my part...._ "Come on. We have to get Maribel and Ruben back to ABQ."

III.

Once again they managed to find their way back from the brink of doom. Things weren't the same, but they were largely good. They still laughed and joked, played and fought, drove everyone around them mad and had each other's backs, but they were both extremely cautious not to be alone together more than was necessary. There were no more nights with her crashing at his house to escape the circus of stupidity that was her family. If they had to be on the road, one of both of them checked and rechecked the hotel reservations to ensure that they actually had two rooms. Eleanor noted their care and filed the little details away for her own private scrutiny along with the way that each would, when no one was watching, sometimes stare at the other for long, serious moments, but she said nothing to anyone, keeper of secrets that she was.

Mary jumped into her relationship with Raph with a determination that made him both happy and a little dizzy and made Marshall not a little sick. She went home at the end of each day trying to force herself into a mold that was the wrong shape for her, and as a result, in a very short time, her temper was frayed and she was snappish with everyone. She began to spend more and more time at work, and predictably, Raph began to grow irritated with her pattern of late nights and absences.

Then came the fight.

"You realize I have no idea what you do everyday, right? What kind of marriage is this we're going to have where the husband doesn't even know what his wife does every day, Mary? This isn't trust!"

"Raph, how many ways do I have to tell you that I can't talk about my job? Why can't you just respect that? What kind of marriage is it going to be when you can't respect something this important to me? How about that? Huh? How about that?"

"Look. A marriage is not supposed to be about a 'you' or a 'me.' It's supposed to be about an 'us.'"

Mary had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as a horror movie image of a being made of some hellish mutant splice of Raph and herself flashed across her inner eye, and she suddenly felt that claustrophobic, airless sensation of suffocation in an open room. She heard the sound of the GMC pulling up outside, and she thanked whatever divinity there was for a rescue.

"I cannot tell you more about my job than I already have. You're going to have accept this, Raph." She gathered her gun, her badge, her jacket, was walking to the door, when he took aim and fired the fatal shot.

"Oh, so now you're running off with _Marshall_ again instead of finishing this argument? Just like always. He knows everything, and I get the leftovers. Fine. Go."

She didn't pause on her way out the door, left no trail of blood behind her, but the whole day, the wound continued to flow.

That night, she told him.

IV.

Bad, bad things happened in diners. Marshall had, in fact, come to believe that he hated them. Maybe it was because they spent so much time in them. Maybe it was just the law of probability sneaking up on him, savaging him. Maybe if they spent lots of quality time talking, say, in petting zoos, skating rinks, or lingerie stores, then he'd get these little dollops of unmitigated hell in those places, begin to get the internal shakes every time she dragged him into one of them for a slice of pie or a quick burger in the middle of the day.

The first mention of Raphael Ramirez as a recreational sex toy had been made here at this very counter, but of course he hadn't really been worried back then. How many male details had he had to listen to over a quick lunch? They'd become a part of the background noise, and nothing of any importance. Then he'd discovered that damn engagement ring tan line sitting in a table right over there, hadn't he? Rocked his entire universe right down to the very foundations. He'd had to slap on a mask made out of whatever shreds and patches he could scrape together, knew it wasn't up to his usual standards.

But today, today, absolutely took the clichéd cake. She had _told_ Raphael. She had given that whining, puling deadweight _their _secret, _his _secret, _the_ secret. Marshall wasn't sure exactly what emotion was strongest: shocked disbelief that it had come to this, an icy rage that she had not told him this was coming, that she'd casually given away something he treasured and protected so carefully, the secrecy that was literally life-or-death not only for him but also for every witness he protected, or total betrayal that she had picked Raph over the job and over _them, _over everything indefinable and essential thing they were to each other.

He couldn't dredge up any mask for this. He couldn't dredge up any kindness, any acceptance. This was too much. He knew she was waiting for him to say that she should do whatever she wanted, that anything she needed to do was okay, just like he always did, but _this was NOT okay. _This, _this_, was a knife in his unprotected back from the hand of the one he trusted more than any other.

When she got up, angry, incredulous that he wasn't going to play nice and pretend it was all fine, wasn't going to roll over like a good little puppy just kicked for a rub on the belly, he didn't follow. He couldn't. He was torn between the need to grab her, shake her hard, howl to the skies at depths of the hurt inside him and the need to get in the truck and drive to the car lot where Raph was working, take his well-trained hands and restore his privacy, end a portion of this ongoing pain, in a very definitive manner.

The darkness inside him grew.

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**Review, por favor.... More to come. And it may not be pretty....**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: And so now we find ourselves rejoining Marshall in that bar, coming full-circle. Still got your seatbelt on? Good.... Oh, you might also want to get a good hold on that door-handle thingy, too.

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I hear you calling and it's needles and pins (And pins)  
I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name  
Don't want to touch you but you're under my skin (Deep in)  
I want to kiss you but your lips are venomous poison  
You're poison runnin' thru my veins  
You're poison, I don't want to break these chains  
Poison

"Poison" ~ Alice Cooper

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I.

Marshall managed to get out the front door of the bar before she caught up with him, put her hand on his arm to turn him. His response was not what she'd expected, not drunk, not staggering, not uncoordinated, _not Marshall_ at all. He grabbed her hand, slid his grip up to her wrist in a hold that she'd seen him use a hundred times on criminals and on witnesses gone wrong, and he twisted it almost casually. She felt a little stab of discomfort as he stopped just short of something that would do her any sort of real harm. His eyes were hard, cold as the icy air that swirled around them, and something just barely under control shone in them causing a shiver to slide through her.

"You don't want to do that right now, Mare. Don't touch me." He held her for another moment, stared at her as if he were searching for something, and then dropped her hand with a sound of disgust, muttered, "Sorry," and ran his hand through his hair. He headed down the sidewalk toward the corner. There was only a slight unsteadiness to his gait.

Shock kept her rooted to the spot as he went. Shock that he'd ever touch her in any way that wasn't soft, gentle. Shock that Marshall, the eternally sweet, thoughtful, and comical partner who rode beside her every day and made her laugh had just put her in a wrist lock. This was Marshall of the lava lamp, Marshall of the PEZ dispensers, Marshall of the origami cranes. This was Marshall of the endless trivia and old movie marathons. It wasn't that she didn't know he had it in him to be dangerous. God knows she'd seen that in him, valued that side of him when she went through doors and into firefights, but she'd never once had a shred of that darkness she knew he kept so carefully kenneled inside him unleashed on her.

She'd come looking for him because she'd waited at the office to talk to him that afternoon and he had never shown up. After she'd told him she'd revealed her WITSEC job to Raph and Marshall had been so angry with her, she'd stormed out of the diner in a fury of her own. She'd gone about the rest of her day defiantly, resolving that he could damn well get over his problems on his own. Guilt had been fueling part of her wrath, guilt caused by the pain she'd seen in those blue eyes that always held only.... She'd shut down that part of her mind and gone about her day, but before she'd even gotten two blocks away from the diner, she was already missing his presence in the seat beside her, already missing his banter and his silences, already planning to catch up with him and try to explain the reasons for her actions later in the day. _He'll understand. He always understands. He knows me better than I know myself. Marshall will get it. He has to....  
_

But Marshall didn't come back to the office. He didn't answer his phone. He didn't return her voicemails. None of his witnesses had seen him. Stan and Eleanor hadn't heard from him. Eleanor was giving her pitying looks from across the office as she dialed him for the fifteenth time, and Mary finally just couldn't stand it any more. She'd jumped up, grabbed her keys, and headed out to see if he was at his house. That was when she'd seen his truck parked outside the bar they sometimes finished up long and bad days at....

Now, a trickle of real fear at the changes in him, at his condition slid through her as she saw him round the corner to the main street, and she responded in the only way she ever did to anything that made her afraid: anger. If she had to fear it, well, then she'd kick its ass and then that feeling would be mutual, wouldn't it? Turn-about was always fair fucking play. Her furious strides ate up the sidewalk, but as she turned the corner, she came to a halt as she saw him folding himself into a cab. He didn't even turn his head to look at her as it pulled past, and Mary saw that his eyes were shut as if he were in pain.

_Oh, hells no. You're not getting off that easy, you wrist-grabbing idiot. _She spun on her heel and was in the Probe in moments.

II.

It has been said that discretion is the better part of valor. Equally true is the old saw about fools rushing in where angels fear to tread. Everyone who knows her knows which one is true of Mary Shannon. Marshall had spent the short cab ride home full of a serious self-loathing and the swirl of dark emotions he'd been fighting all day. He was cursing both the keys stubbornly refusing to come out of his pockets and himself for a fool a million times over for what he'd done, his mood black and empty of light as the cloudy sky above him when she pulled to the curb with a slight squeal of brakes applied too hard too suddenly.

He stopped in his futile quest to get in his own house, dully took in the sight of her getting out of the car, slamming the door, the furious glory of her coming up the little walkway. _Of course. She couldn't just let it go. Goddamn it. Why couldn't she just let it go?_ _I can't do this tonight...We can't do this. She has to go...._ He turned away and forced his focus onto the keys, forced his fine motor skills to work the mechanism and knob.

She was right behind him, crowding him when he was so unsafe, when he needed space, needed distance. "Marshall! What the hell? Look, I want to talk to you...."

He could smell that scent of her again, that tang of her on the night air. It invoked images best left unearthed tonight, images of her beneath him under a star-shot sky... The slap to his libido was followed immediately by the reminder of her betrayal, the reminder of what she'd done, of how she'd given _them_ to Raphael, exposed his secret heart to the man Marshall could not bring himself to regard as something serious in her life no matter how hard he tried and no matter what manner of jewelery was on her hand, and he turned to lean against the door frame, smiled at her sarcastically. 

_Okay. Fine. You want to keep pushing me? Fine. By God, I think I've had enough by anybody's measures, and I'm officially climbing down off this particular pyre of martyrdom for tonight......_

"Well, now. Wouldn't life just be an absolute peach if we all got every single little thing we wanted? What? Those wishes not working out for you, Mare? Need some more?" He pushed off the door frame, leaned toward her a little menacingly, more than a little suggestively, raked his hot eyes down her body. "'S that why you're here, Mare? Are you sure it's really _talk_ you...wanted?" He reached out a hand toward her face.

She looked up at him, felt her fury rising, moved to slap down the hand before it could touch her. "Don't you touch me when you're drunk. Don't you dare talk to me like that and think you're going to touch me when you're drunk...." She fought for a calming breath, tried very hard to settle. "Marshall, Jesus, this isn't you."

He laughed, looked at her a moment, and then his expression became infinitely sad, the anger dropping away suddenly, the feeling going like an elevator plunging down a shaft into a black abyss. He just felt empty and tired now. "How the hell would you know, Mare? How the hell would you _know_?" And he turned away from her to open the door. He would have slammed it shut, but she was expecting the move, blocked it to force her way in.

_You bastard. If I have a bruise from that, I'm taking out of your ass in the morning...._

He was standing inside in the darkness of the living room, just staring off into the distance. He had stripped off his coat as he came in, throwing it toward a chair, stilled with his hands on the back of the couch. He seemed lost in his own space, unmoored and drifting. She closed and locked the door by force of habit, walked over to where he was without pausing to switch on a light, hesitated remembering his reaction on the sidewalk, and then cast caution to the winds and gently laid her hand on his sleeve. His eyes fell to the touch as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Mare, you need to go." His voice was a hoarse whisper. "I'm not...you cannot be here right now. I need you to leave. Please. Just go."

"Not until I talk to you for a minute. I need to tell you that...that...I'm sorry I hurt you, Marshall. All day long, I thought about what you said today at the diner, about this being your secret as well as mine, and I know you're right."

Pain like a blade cut through him, and the darkness which had been momentarily quiescent expanded, exploded like a black sun gone supernova, howled. He turned on her, advanced, and something in his expression made her back up, she who never gave way, as he paced her toward the wall.

"Then how could you do it? How could you give him..._us_?"

"I don't know. I guess at the time I just wasn't thinking about it. I was just trying to make everything right...Marshall, look, let's sit down and talk. I want to try to explain... I'll go make some coffee...."

"Wasn't _thinking_...." He laughed softly, bitterly, still stalking forward.

Her back hit the bookshelf, and she heard the soft clink of untold little artifacts of his life as they settled from the vibration. He kept coming. Her pulse picked up, and she fought to stay calm. _It's Marshall, it's Marshall, and I am NOT afraid of him, but what is that in his eyes? _She swallowed hard.

"Marshall, you need to quit this right now. You're drunk and you're not in control of yourself." She made her tone her U.S. Marshal tone, calm and commanding. He was right in front of her, too close now, staring down into her face, staring as if he were searching for something critical, something life-or-death.

"You're right. I am out-of-control." He took one hand and placed it on the shelf beside her head. "Controlled, tame Marshall would never tell you no, would he?" He brought his other hand up, pinned her in. "Your pitiful pet Marshall would never dare to defy you, stay angry, not take your calls, God forbid go out and get _drunk_ on you, would he?" He stepped forward, and only a breath separated them. He dropped one hand from the shelf to her hip, hooked the belt loop of her jeans with his index finger and thumb and roughly tugged her against him. Her hands instinctively came up against his chest in a gesture of warding, pushing him away, but he would not be moved. She felt the wash of his breath on her neck. "Sweet little lamb Marshall always comes so nicely to heel when you snap your fingers, click your... tongue." She felt his mouth open on her neck, felt his tongue lap at her on one of the most sensitive spots there, felt his teeth nip. _Oh my God.... _A shiver of pure pleasure chased down her spine. Two long months had passed since she'd last felt that sensation.

_No. We shouldn't. Can't. I..._ His mouth was working down toward the joining of neck and shoulder. _Why can't we again? Shit...shit...there is a reason...what was the reason? Right...drunk...he's drunk... and being an ass...out of control.... _She broke through the haze of growing arousal to make an effort. She shoved at him, but it was like trying to move a stone statue. He captured her hands, held them over her head with one of his large ones wrapped tightly around her wrists, smiled a dangerous smile as he looked down at her.

"But tonight, tonight, I'm not that Marshall. Your little lamb is gone, Mary. Nursery rhyme is over. Something else's here instead." He brought his other hand down to her waist, slid down to cup her, lift her, drag her up against him. She could feel an impossible erection pressed against her._ How in the hell, with all that he's had to drink..._ His mouth was again burning up her neck, stopped to whisper harshly in her ear, "Warned you fair and square. Told you _twice_ to get away from me, to leave me the hell alone." He angled his head, sucked her bottom lip, forced his knee between her thighs, forced her to shift to accommodate the invasion. "But you stayed, didn't you Mary Shannon? Even though you knew this was coming. Didn't you?"

He lips slid over hers, no teasing delicacy, no hesitation, direct, hot, needy as he took her mouth with his own, plunged his tongue in to stroke against her own again, again, again. She could taste the tang of the scotch, the bitterness of the anger, and overwhelming it all so strongly that it was making her drunk on it, the hot wine of his desire..... _Jesus...want.... _His free hand streaked up her back, wrapped itself in her hair, pulled her head back so she was forced to meet his eyes. "_Didn't_ you?"

The question was loaded. She knew it. She knew that her answer would be the tipping of some scale, the crossing of some line. She knew she should try to get free, trip him, use her training on him to escape, tell him no at the very least, and running like the hounds of hell were behind her didn't seem like too much of a stretch as she felt his hips hitch against hers impatiently. But all she could think about was the taste of him, the feel of him, the _wanting_ of him....

His eyes were boring into hers, compelling her, demanding an answer. Despite her best intentions to the contrary, she heard it spill breathlessly over her lips, "Yes...." And then he smiled. It was not a gentle smile, not the smile of her partner or her friend. It was a smile of triumph, the smile of a hunter who has caught its prey. He released her hands, slipped his own into her hair, angled her face and for a moment just studied her as he leaned in. Then he kissed her hard, fast, with enough passion and promise in it to leave her weak when he pulled away moments later and whispered in her ear, "Then, Mare, that makes you _mine_ tonight."

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**Aanndddd review, please.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Oh my blessed precious readers...you got me to 100 reviews. You know what that means....celebration time. This chapter is one of the hardest ones I've ever written. I don't know if it shows. Hopefully I hid all the seams, rips, and tears. You can let me know at the bottom. By the way, for those of you who've been asking, Dark!Marshall is currently on backorder. When he's in stock again, we will begin filling all those requests in the order in which they were received (but, honey, you know I get mine first, right?)....

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You consider me the young apprentice

Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes.

Hypnotized by you if I should linger

Staring at the ring around your finger....

Mephistopheles is not your name,

But I know what you're up to just the same.

I will listen hard to your tuition,

And you will see it come to it's fruition....

I will turn your face to alabaster,

Then you'll find your servant is your master,

And you'll be wrapped around my finger.

I'll be wrapped around your finger.

You'll be wrapped around my finger.

I'll be wrapped around your finger.....

"Wrapped Around Your Finger" ~ Sting / the Police

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I.

Her awareness of everything just....stopped....her mind cycling idle with those whispered words in her ear...._mine tonight...mine tonight...mine tonight...._ Even as a tiny portion of her brain sputtered in rebellion at the assumption in those words, itched to claw and slap at him for them, a larger portion purred and went liquid at the heat, the raw need that erupted beneath the command. The words spun and circled and she was drowning in them, in the suddenly hypnotic blue of his eyes as he lowered his mouth to kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands leaving her face to curl around her shoulders, to pull her up against him hard.

Somehow he turned her, and they were stumbling down the hall to his room, Marshall again stalking her backwards, stripping off her coat as he went, pulling her sweater up, off, tossing it carelessly behind him. She was clawing at his shirt, too, fumbling for the first time she could remember in years with a man's clothing, unable to make her fingers work with the surety she was used to in this situation, opening only a few buttons, and then he was pushing her back against the wall of the short passage, his mouth devouring hers.

"_Mine_," he murmured huskily, his voice low and rough, "...going to take what I want how I want it..."

_Wait...going to take?.... _Her mind barely had time to process the slightest quiver of alarm before she felt his hands skating down her body, felt him ripping down the zipper on her jeans and suddenly he was on his knees before her, pulling the denim down over her hips with one hard fast tug, hooking her underwear with them, and then he was shoving her legs apart, and.... _Oh my God, going to take.... _Her hips bucked in reaction, her hands twisting into his hair as his tongue flicked, his lips teased, pulling painfully hard against the sensation of it, against the suddenness of it. One of his hands cupped the bare cheek of her derrière, fingers spreading to grip possessively, pull her closer so he could continue the pleasurable onslaught.

_How can this be Marshall? How can this be my partner? How can this be..._ Her mind was splintering, shattering, astonished at the demand of him, the surety with which he handled her body, with which he _took_ and _gave_....._ Nothing in their previous encounters had prepared her for this. Fleeting images of the other times they'd been together when he'd been so careful with her, touched her like she was fragile came to her. This time, however, he was unrestrained, uncontrolled, no gentleness or hesitation. Here there were shades of the Marshall who kicked in doors, who faced down armed gang members with his gun still firmly holstered and a smile on his face. The sheer audacity of his sudden change in behavior was arousing her every bit as fast as the pleasure he was giving her with his hands and mouth. _Within moments, she was coming, a hoarse cry wrung from her throat, knees going weak.

Marshall was on his feet pressing his mouth over hers immediately, and she could taste herself on his lips, his tongue as it swept across hers. She leaned against him, groaning softly, and he wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her slightly. She wrapped one leg awkwardly around his waist as best she could with her jeans still tangled around her boots and lower legs, and he carried her the last few steps through the bedroom door as she tried to make sense of the world again.

Inside, she managed to recover enough to help him strip off the remnants of their clothing, and then he laid her down like an offering on an altar. He stood by the side of the bed a moment, just looking at her with hunger heating his eyes before he slowly crawled up her body from the foot of the bed.

"Marshall," she whispered, wanting the promise she saw there, needing him again suddenly, body aching for the weight of him, reaching out to run her hands up the muscles of his back, pulling him down to her. "Marshall," she said again, in her voice hunger and something else....

Almost immediately at the sound of his name falling from her lips, his hands gentled, and his kisses, while still full of need, began to lose some of that dangerous edge to them. She brought her hands up to cup his face as he began to kiss her, but something caught his eye as she did so, and he caught her hand in his own, pinned it down, feral again.

He raised his head and looked down at her with savage eyes, nimble fingers seeking and finding the engagement ring that had glinted in the soft light of his room, that he'd just felt pressed against his cheek. "This _goes_," he growled.

"Marshall, what the hell..." she began weakly as he drew it off her hand, flung it toward the door. She heard it hit the hardwood floors with a tiny tinkling sound, felt alarm, irritation, and something a little like awe mix and rise at his unexpected action. He brought his mouth back to her ear before whispering harshly, "You won't be with me again with that thing on your hand. There won't be three of us in this bed again tonight." And he sealed whatever protest she might have made with his kisses until she was dizzy with them. His mouth sought, found her breast, and she gasped and arched to the mouth that hungrily suckled, to the aggressive nip of his teeth, the hot swirl of his tongue.

She could feel him pressed hard against her, feel his hips hitching impatiently. He smoothed his hand down her side to encourage her hip to wrap around his waist. As she shifted, he came in contact with where she opened wet and swollen for him and he groaned against her breast. He raised his head to seek her mouth again, and as he traced the seam of her lips, slipped his tongue into her mouth, he began to rock his hips slowly, sliding against her without entry. He ground his hips against hers, making sure the slow friction teased her with every stroke until she was writhing beneath him, obscenities and pleas coming from her lips.

"Damn you, Marshall, do it already..."

He laughed a little, wickedly, continued the slow torture. She made an inarticulate noise as he leaned down to circle her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

"Going to kill you, Marshall..."

She used her training, desperately flipped him over, intending to take what she needed from him as she had from so many men when she got ready, only to have him reverse the maneuver, pin her beneath him anew, hands held again in one of his large ones.

"No. If you want this tonight, there's a price." He kissed her lingeringly. "I'll give you everything you want, Mare. But to get this," and he was there, teasingly poised at the entrance, "you're going to have to admit it tonight." He sucked her bottom lip. "Going to have to say my name, tell me this is what you want."

"Damn you...." She put her nails into the hands that were restraining hers.

He laughed softly, brokenly, lowered his forehead to rest against hers, flexed his hips so he ground against her slowly, powerfully, "Of that, I have no doubts at all... Say it, Mary. Tell me you want _me_, want _this_...." The last was whispered against her lips, a hint of pleading in his tone.

Mary suddenly understood it all. She placed a gentle hand against his cheek, forcing him to focus, so he could see her eyes, "Yes, ...I ...want _you_. Now, Marshall, do it." And she arched beneath him.

He dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a moan as the words tumbled from her lips, and then his mouth was on hers, hard, devouring, all patience and hesitation gone with her words. His hands slipped down to her hips to hold them steady and he was inside her in a hard fast thrust. She cried out at the feeling of him filling her, and he began to move.

"Wishes and commands....Oh, I'll give you yours, Mare. Going to fuck you so hard you won't know your own name. Won't be able to remember anybody else's. Ever. Going to make you mine. Mine. Going to take you. Keep you. Take ...and ….hold... Take...and...Mine..."

His words, obscene, harsh, and somehow desperate were muttered in her ear, against her lips, against her breasts between kisses and pounding thrusts and somehow only served to amplify the intensity of this joining. Faster than she could have believed possible, she was arced under him, back bowing, hips stuttering, orgasm ripping through her. His hips frantically pulsed against hers and then he was following her, collapsing on top of her, a heavy weight pinning her to the bed.

II.

Mary woke to a gray and leaden winter morning light streaming through the windows of Marshall's room. She was warm wrapped in the many layers of bedding there. She stretched luxuriously, feeling lingering tiny twinges of a body well-used from the night before. She rolled over suddenly, aware that she was alone in the big bed. _Where is he?_ She ran a hand over his pillow to find the light blue sheets cool to the touch. For another moment, she lay listening to the sounds of the house, trying to locate him that way. The only sounds were the noises all houses make, the refrigerator compressor whirring, the almost inaudible hum of electricity being used by countless things.

Mary sat up, swung her feet to the cool floorboards, crossed the room to pluck Marshall's big robe off a hook on the back of his closet door, and wrapped herself in it. _There's no Marshall noise. Where the hell is he? Did he do something stupid like go sleep in the living room for some reason? _She padded down the short hall into the living room, but the house was empty. There was no sign of him anywhere.

In frustration, she went into the kitchen, looked around, and it was there that she found the note. It was sitting on the countertop of the central island like a display in a museum. The only light in the whole house that was on was the workstation light hanging over it. Her engagement ring was sitting on top of it perfectly centered, diamonds gleaming softly. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and a growing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she walked over to pick up the small piece of notepaper. The writing was brief and poignant, perfectly Marshall. She read it three times despite its brevity, unable to take in its meaning, unable to process it, and then she wadded it up and threw it across the room.

"You son of a bitch! You cowardly bastard! I don't think so!"

She stormed out of the kitchen to retrieve her clothing from the bedroom and had to return to the kitchen to pick up the ring which was still wobbling gently on the countertop. As she went out, she stooped to pick up the crumpled ball of paper, and as she went back to get dressed, her frantic hands smoothed out the wrinkles and folded it up to keep. They were not done with this. Not by a long shot.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Everyone is so kind. Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. I am happy that you're happy. On with the show. (Has anybody else noticed how hard I'm hitting the 80's here on the song lyrics? These are the songs that keep fitting the situation....)

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When you make love, do you look in the mirror?  
Who do you think of?  
Does he look like me?  
Do you tell lies?  
And say that it's forever?  
Do you think twice, or just touch and see?

I don't wanna touch you too much baby  
'Cos making love to you might drive me crazy  
I know you think that love is the way you make it  
So I don't wanna be there when you decide to break it. No!

When I'm with you, are you somewhere else?  
Am I gettin' thru or do you please yourself?  
When you wake up, will you walk out?  
It can't be love if you throw it about  
Ooh babe

(Love bites, love bleeds)  
It's bringin' me to my knees  
(Love lives, love dies)  
It's no surprise  
(Love begs, love pleads)  
It's what I need

"Love Bites" ~ Def Leppard

I.

When he'd finally summoned enough energy to pull himself together enough to roll off her and tug her lightly into his arms, the madness that had possessed him had drained away. So too had the insulating effects of the alcohol he'd consumed. As Mary buried her face in the crook of his neck and made satisfied-sounding noises heading toward slumber, his mind ground ruthlessly over and over what he'd just done, what he'd just said, and a wave of self-disgust such as he'd never felt before almost choked him. He continued to hold her, ran a shaking hand ever-so-lightly down her smooth strong back and waited until her breathing was even and steady. Then he gently slipped out of her grasp and headed for the bathroom.

He hoped that a hot shower would clear his mind, help him figure out what to do now. The water ran over his body, soap and temperature tingling the little puncture wounds here and there left by Mary's nails and making him remember exactly how those marks had gotten there. He ran unsteady hands through his own hair, pulling as if he could extract the memories that were tormenting him.

_How could I have treated her that way? How could I have just pushed her up against a wall and.... And that's not all I wanted to do. I was so far over that edge. Oh God, once I got my hands on her, the things I could have done..._

A wicked voice in his mind laughed. _Didn't seem to mind, though, did she, precisely? I think you __could say she sort of enjoyed it.... _Lurid splash of images, sounds, Mary's pleasure as he'd touched her, _handled_ her replayed for his mind's eye. _Yeah, I think she enjoyed it quite a bit..._

His hands tightened on the towel bar, and he muttered, "No. _No_. That's not the way it should be between us. We shouldn't be together in anger, in hurt. This _can't_ keep _happening_." Frustration and confusion swept through him. What was the solution? Why couldn't he, the man who could solve problems for so many others, solve the thing most wrong in his own life, in the life of the person he loved most in all the world? Ignoring what was between them and trying to go on as if there were nothing there certainly hadn't worked. They didn't appear to be able to talk about this, either, resolve it with honesty and words. _It's a deadlock, a lose-lose situation, both of us balancing on a razor blade and cutting ourselves to ribbons trying to keep the status quo. _

He cut off the water and stepped out to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist. As he came back into his room, a beam of light from the bath caught something on the floor near the bedroom door, and he simply froze in his tracks as he realized what it was that he was seeing. With a feeling of nausea, he crossed the short distance, looked down at the tiny object for a moment, and finally forced himself to bend down and scoop it up in the palm of his hand. He stared at it there as if it were a totally new thing never before seen on the face of the world, as if it held the answers to all questions, or as if it were a dangerous and possibly explosive entity that had to be handled with care. Finally he spoke in an almost inaudible whisper.

"It has to end. And since it seems there's no other way to stop it, I will have to be the one to end it. Otherwise, we're just going to keep wounding each other like two wild things in too small a cage."

He looked back at Mary, unconscious, beautiful in her slumber, sprawling in his bed, and felt guilt, sorrow, and love flood through him in a mixture so painful he was light-headed for a moment, swaying on his feet. His hand made a tight fist around the ring, and the three gaudy stones of it cut triple gouges into the palm of his hand. He did not feel them. Other pains were far too acute at the moment to notice those small stings. Later, he'd see them and laugh bitterly at that final irony. For now, he moved silently around the room gathering the things he'd need.

As he finished with his preparations, he crept back into the bedroom and pulled the covers up around her making sure she was warm. Because he could not resist it, and because it was the last time, after all, he brushed his lips against her forehead, her lips softly, softly, and she stirred slightly, murmured something that sounded peaceful, happy even, and rolled over. Finally there was only one thing left to do. He set his bags by the door and grabbed a notepad he kept in the kitchen for shopping lists, tried to find words to tell her what he was doing and why. Complex fugues of words flowed through his head, epistles of such length and magnitude that they would have required multiple volumes and footnotes to be understood, would have puzzled scholars and inspired dissertations. None of these were what he needed to tell her most, though, the crucial thing at this moment. He held the pen over the paper, hesitating, hesitating, and finally, the right words came. What he ultimately had to say filled only a few brief sentences in his precise, elegant handwriting:

**There will never be enough apologies for last night or for you waking alone today, but for what it's worth, I hope you know by now I would rather bleed myself than ever cause you any pain. That's why it's time for me to be the one who goes. One of us has to, that's clear, or we're just going to keep hurting each other. I'll take care of all the official end of things. All I ask from you is that you let it go, let me go. **

** ~ Yours, Always, Only, and Ever**

He held the little page in his hands a moment thinking. He thought of everything that would alter if he went through with this plan. He thought of the pain of being away from her, the difficulty of the changes he was about to put himself through. He thought about how easy it would be to wad up the note, strip off his clothes and climb back next to her warm, naked body before she woke up and ever knew he had thought about leaving, to pretend that everything was as okay as she'd allow it to be.

_It's not too late. I could just go back in there, get back in that bed, and... And what? Do what? Keep living off the crumbs from her table? Go out and get drunk another night, pin her to another wall, really give in to this darkness inside me? Watch her wake up and walk away another day and try to pretend it's all okay? We keep going in circles, vicious horrible circles. I can't go back. No matter how much I might want to.... No. Forward is the way out, and even if it hurts, I have to get out of this cycle some how. For me. For her. For both of us. _

With a sigh of finality, he put it down on the counter. He took the hated ring out of his pocket and laid it down in the center of the note, switched on the overhead light above the island so she would be sure to see it when she inevitably came looking to find him, and left. He put on his scarf slowly, slipped on the long wool coat he'd tossed last night, putting her jacket over a chair as he did so, running his hands over the soft leather one final time, and then he turned decisively, grabbed his keys and his gear and slipped out into the cold pre-dawn gloaming without looking back again.

II.

Mary was sitting in Stan's office. Every call she'd sent to his phone had gone directly to voicemail. She'd left several very pointed and rather vulgar messages early in the day and then she'd spent most of the rest of her day off looking for Marshall everywhere to no avail. He was well-hidden wherever the hell he was. She'd combed every hotel and motel in the region. She'd called friends, witnesses, and enemies. She'd staked out his house and spent long hours waiting for him to return to his house. He hadn't and she was thoroughly exhausted. In the still small hours of the night, she'd tried his phone one last time, and when it had gone to voicemail, she'd hung up, anger, fatigue, and worry churning inside her.

She'd come in early today, determined that today he would damn well change his mind, that whatever the problem was, they could at least talk at work, that she'd find some way to force him to listen, but the time to start the day had come and gone, and there was no Marshall. He was never late.

She'd surreptitiously gone over to his desk, glanced down, and she noticed for the first time certain items missing. His personal stuff was gone, all the little precious items and knickknacks that he fiddled with all the time. Only the basic desk supplies and the paperwork lay there, forlorn if neatly organized. _What the hell is this? Where is his stuff? _Just as she was about to give up the pretense of looking for a file for one of her witnesses, Stan had stuck his head out of his office door and called her name.

Stan was holding a large file folder full of documents when she entered. His face was a serious as she'd ever seen it.

"I sure as hell hope whatever this is manages to be quick, Stan. I've had no sleep, no coffee, and I'm not in the mood to dilly-dally this morning."

He sat down in the chair next to her without responding to her verbal jab. Both things, his choice of seat and his lack of response to her sarcasm alerted her to something very bad coming. Her heart sped up slightly. He smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes at all. _ Shit. Seen that smile before, haven't I? This is going to be bad. Ohshitohshitohshit...._

Stan's voice was gentle when he spoke. "Mary, I'm not going to ask you for any specifics of what's gone on unless you want to give them. It's not my place. I don't pry into the personal lives of my Inspectors. I...am just here...to inform you that as of this morning, Marshall has requested and been granted a transfer. Effective immediately."

She felt as if the entire world had dropped away from under her. _Transfer? Going away? Going where? Wait... He's... leaving...really leaving here? Leaving this? Leaving... me? _And the words of Marshall's notes came back to her as if they were written in fire along the wall by the hand of God...not "mene, mene, tekel," but the meaning was the same, really: "I'll take care of all the official end of things. All I ask from you is that you let it go, let me go."

Stan was talking, something about caseloads and transferring witnesses to other inspectors, but his words had no meaning to her. All she could think of was the sudden emptiness inside her. Suddenly, she was aware that Stan had stopped talking, and she felt his hand gently pat her arm.

"Where is he? Where did he go?"

Stan looked at her, and he opened his mouth, closed it, looked down at the folders in his hands as if they were suddenly the most important items in the universe.

"I...am... not at liberty to release that information to you, Mary."

"You're what?" Astonishment stormed through her, barely two lengths ahead of anger. It was catching up quickly though.... "What the hell does that mean when it's at home, Stan?"

He sighed heavily, rose, and walked around his desk as if he needed the distance or the symbol of his authority for support as he delivered the next bit of news. "I'm sorry, Mary. It's what he wanted. Look, why don't you just take the rest of the day, okay?" His eyes studied her carefully. She muttered something, stumbled toward the door like a person in a daze, grabbed her coat and headed for the elevator.

III.

She lay facedown in the middle of the bed. The blinds were drawn and all the lights were off. She was completely still and had been since she got home. She had no idea how long she had been in this position, no idea how much time had passed. Her thoughts refused to coalesce. All she could think about was that her best friend, the one person she depended on most always to be there was gone.... _And he doesn't want me anymore. He ran away where I can't find him...made Stan do his dirty work....hate him....miss him....Marshall....why? Why would you leave me?....You bastard....come back..._

Her phone had rung a few times, and she'd glanced at the caller ID. It had not been Marshall or any of her witnesses, so she'd let it go to voicemail, continued to let her mind drift in its hellish fog. Sometime later, she heard the front door open, heard steps come down the hall, heard the bedroom door swing inward, but she didn't turn her head. She couldn't summon up the energy. Nobody who mattered would be coming through it.

"Mary," Raph's voice was soft. "I've been trying to get you for awhile now. When I came home, I saw your car outside. How long have you been home? Why aren't you answering your phone? What's the matter? Are you okay?" His weight made the bed dip, and she felt his hands gently caress her back, seeking the knots of tension there. A part of her wanted to throw those hands off her. They felt somehow wrong there, too heavy, the wrong shape.... Her mind shied away from those lines of thought, and she turned her head on the bedspread to look at Raph, the action almost more than she could manage.

"Mary. Tell me. You're scaring me. You act like somebody died."

"Marshall," she said, and her voice cracked from disuse. She cleared her throat, licked her lips and tried again. "He's gone. He left."

She felt Raph's hands still on her back, pause for just that infinitesimal moment. His voice, when he spoke again, was a little less soothing. There was something in it that was fighting for understanding, for sympathy.

"What do you mean, 'he left'? Explain it, Mary. Why are you so upset?"

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and he drew her back against him, wrapped his arms around her, and she immediately wanted his arms off, felt claustrophobic, trapped. She took a deep breath.

_I'm marrying this man. THIS man. This one who STAYS. It is natural that he holds me this way. NATURAL. It's okay....it's okay...it's okay...._

"I...found out today that Marshall is being transferred. He's leaving Albuquerque."

His arms squeezed. She again fought the urge to claw at them, to get away. "Oh, Mary. I'm sorry. I know he's your friend. I know you'll miss him. But it's not like you'll never see him again, right? Wherever it is that he's going, even in your job, surely the two of you will see each other again...." There was something in his voice, something at first that she could not identify.... _What is that? You know he almost sounds...._

"No, Raph...you don't get it. He's already gone....and...I...we...I'm not going to ever see him again."

Raph went still. "You two had a fight?"

She nodded, laughed miserably. "Yeah. God. I guess you could call it that, sort of."

Raph's hands resumed their gentle massage of her forearms. For a few minutes, they said nothing. Then, "So he's leaving for good?" _There it is again. That sounds almost like he's...happy....._ She shook her head. _God, going crazy and getting paranoid on top of it...._

"So I've been told. I'm so pissed about this I can't see straight. He didn't even tell me. He just...disappeared....."

"That doesn't sound much like Marshall....anyway, Mary, look. I'm sure you two will fix whatever this is. In the meantime, let me take you out. I think it's not good for you to keep lying here just staring at the walls." He brushed her hair off her neck and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She felt his whole body jolt, and she felt his fingers brush lightly across a spot on her neck, once, then twice, heard him draw in a deep, shuddering breath, release it slowly.

"Mary," he said in a voice that was low and suddenly unsteady. "Is there something perhaps that you'd like to tell me?"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I'm trying to do a quick update since it seems I left people in more angst than usual. Just hang in there everybody. DO NOT DESPAIR! Remember that it's always darkest just before the dawn....

* * *

**

I feel so unsure  
As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor  
As the music dies, something in your eyes  
Calls to mind a silver screen and all those sad goodbyes

Time can never mend  
The careless whispers of a good friend  
To the heart and mind  
Ignorance is kind  
And there's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

I'm never gonna dance again  
Cause guilty feet have got no rhythm  
Though it's easy to pretend  
I know you're not a fool

I should have known better than to cheat a friend  
And waste the chance that I'd been given  
So I'm never gonna dance again  
The way I danced with you

~ "Careless Whisper" George Michael

I.

Mary sat up and away from Raph and turned to face him. As she did so, she felt a curious lightness, a strange relief that the truth was coming out, that things were finally unraveling. She'd known that Marshall had left a mark high on her neck near the nape, could in fact recall the exact moment when his passionate kisses had created it, but she'd forgotten about it in her sorrow over his leaving, forgotten that she was supposed to be hiding it from Raph.

_And that's just what happens when life fills up with lies and secrets. Something always slides through the cracks of the mask and reveals the truth, no matter how hard we try to hide it, no matter how much we would wish otherwise. _

Now there was nothing to hide, nothing that could be hidden, and her heart sighed with relief.

_Because it's hard work keeping that mask in place, patching those constantly-appearing gaps...._

He was still sitting there looking at her with those questioning eyes, hurt and anger just beginning to blossom there in them, and she smiled gently and reached across what felt like an ever-widening gulf to take his hand.

"Yeah. I guess there is something I need to tell you, Raph. This is not going to be easy for you to hear...."

II.

Hours passed. Accusations were flung, deflected, returned. Words became heated. Doors were slammed. Anger was roused.

"How could you? How _could_ you? How long have you been sleeping with him, Mary? From the beginning?"

"Oh, going to play the wounded betrayal card, are we? This is so rich coming from you. Does it feel good to be the innocent victim, Mr. She's Just My Physical Therapist?"

"I came clean about that, Mary. It was...a mistake, and I stopped seeing her when I committed to you, to this relationship! But you...you've been waltzing in and out of here like there was nothing between the two of you, making _me_ feel guilty for even _implying_ that there might be... when...the whole time apparently...."

"You bastard, I was true to you for a long, long time. Marshall and I are so close as friends and partners...we never intended...we tried so hard...he and I even...it's so complicated...." She took a deep breath, unable to find a way to describe what had happened between them, the depth of it, the perfection of how they'd come together, the pain of how they'd torn apart. She punched the couch cushion lightly in frustration, switched from a confused defense to more certain ground. "Besides, let's not forget that the _full_ extent of your relationship with Ms. Silicone SuperCups was recreational fun and that all that happened after we were together, too, or don't you remember that?"

He ran his hands through his hair, paced away from her. They were now in the living room, their "discussion" having raged through the bedroom, the kitchen, and finally having settled there. Mary was momentarily perched the couch watching Raph walk back and forth. She'd done her fair share of walking the floors and she was tired of it. To be honest, she was tired of all of this....

"Look, Mary. This is going nowhere." He turned to face her and walked across the room to put his hands on her arms. His voice gentled as he squeezed softly. "So we've both made mistakes. Okay. Fine. I'm willing to admit that I'm not perfect. Let's put this behind us. We can do it. We can build on this somehow to make an even stronger foundation for our future together."

_But do I want to rebuild this with him? Do I want a future with Raphael? _The choking feeling of walls closing in, of airlessness was back, and she wanted those restraining hands off her, gone. His touch was heavy, restraining, clinging, and she suddenly felt as though an opening to escape from danger was closing while she stood watching, dumbfounded.

"Maybe this is what we both needed to make us think about our relationship seriously. I know it's hard now, but maybe this will actually turn out to have been somehow a _good_ thing....."

_What IS he blathering on about, and why doesn't he let me go? Wait, yes, he's right....I am thinking about our relationship. He's right about that, and I am sure about one thing as I've never been sure of it before...._

"...because, Mary, if we can survive this, what could possibly tear us apart?"

She pushed away from him gently, just far enough to look in his eyes. He looked down at them, and in her expression, he saw what he had feared for so long, knew that no matter how hard he held her, it would not be hard enough to keep her. He dropped his hands to his side.

"Raph," she said, "that's the thing, isn't it? I don't cheat. Not ever. I mean, I never have. Not when I've been committed to somebody. And I fought what I felt for Marshall. Hard. As hard as I've ever fought anything in my life...."

Raph stirred restlessly in front of her as if he wanted to turn away, raise a hand to brush aside her words, but she continued as if he'd never moved. "...He fought, too, pushed me away, literally, physically. But it just kept happening."

"But he's gone now, Mary. He left you. Left for good."

The words cut jagged channels through her tender insides. She took a deep breath and went on.

"I know it. But that still doesn't mean you and I should be together. Don't you see? If I really felt for you what you want from me, need from me, deserve from me, Raph, there would be no way I could have gone to bed with Marshall, not even once no matter what the situation surrounding it."

Raph looked down at his hands. "So this is your choice? You're ending it with me? Kicking me out when he's gone, maybe forever? Choosing the man who ran away over the one who offered you a future and a ring?"

"No. This isn't about that at all. I might not ever see him again." _Oh God. Please don't let that be true.... _"This is just about you and me right now, Raph. We're not what we're supposed to be, not with rings and promises of forever involved." She reached down and slipped the winking diamonds off her finger, took his hand and folded it into his palm. Then she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, softly, gently. She turned and walked to the front door, grabbed her coat and keys, and she paused with her hand on the knob to look at him a moment.

Raph was staring down at the ring in his hand, sadness in every line of his body. He looked up at her and his eyes were a little lost. "What do I do now? Tell me that?"

She smiled just a little, but it did not touch her gaze. "I'm fresh out of ideas for tomorrow, Raph. I'm doing good to still be standing right this very minute. You're going to have to find your own way now." She relented, walked over to where he was, kissed him very gently on the cheek. Then she turned and walked away.

II.

For a long time, she just drove around, turning over and over the events of the evening in her mind. It was finally over with Raph, and instead of the pain she had expected to feel, she felt an almost euphoric relief. There would be no more worries about her plans for the future not fitting his, no more moments of wanting to fling his hands from her physically, no more nervous and uncomfortable slices of hell when his family members showed up full of expectations of a woman she could never be, of a blushing bride ready to create mountains of offspring, of a traditional cliché she had rejected ages ago. The hand that had borne the ring for so long felt remarkably light, as if a cast-iron shackle had been removed instead of something made of gems and precious metals.

_God, how did I miss this before? How did I blind myself to the fact that I was forcing something together so hard that didn't fit? I would have gone through with it, too. Stubborn pride. Stubborn, arrogant pride.... But it would have been so wrong. No amount of my pushing would ever have made Raph and me right. We just don't work together. And, the thing that I need, maybe, shouldn't have to be a thing that gets forced at all...._

It came to her how easy it was to be with Marshall, how much enjoyment there had always been for them together in everything, in their daily encounters, in their silliness , in their snarkiness, and in their seriousness, too, how simply and perfectly they had come together as partners, as friends, as lovers....Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of the Probe.

_God, I miss him. He hasn't even been gone a full 48, and I already feel like it's been forever. I need to see him. Need to talk to him. I want to tell him.... I want to tell him...._

Here her mind hesitated, paused, careful and cautious. _Want to tell him what?_

_Want to tell him I miss him, I guess. That I don't like it when he's gone. That I want him to come back. That I broke up with Raph. _

_And is that all? _the persistent little voice asked. _Is there nothing else more serious, more crucial you've learned here that you want to share with him?_

_Um...I'm not sure what you mean....and I think I'm really going nuts since I'm driving around talking to myself._

That little inner voice just sighed. _I can see this is going to take awhile. You'll get it eventually. Drive on. Drive on....._

Mary made a few more circuits of the neighborhood, but the inner voice remained silent. When she got back home, Raph was gone just as she'd hoped he would be. She went to her bedroom and took out her cellphone, hesitated, and shrugged, hitting #1 on her speed dial.

"Hey, Marshall. Don't know if you're even listening to these anymore, you jerk, since you're not deigning to call back, but I just wanted you to know that....Raph and I ended things tonight. I....don't know, I guess I thought you might be interested in that news." There was a long pause in which she struggled for words. None came. "Well, take care of yourself, wherever the hell it is that you are." And she hung up. She didn't say the words her heart was clamoring to say the loudest, "Come back to me." Something of it crept in to her message nevertheless.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Just saw the latest episode. Soooo much Marshall goodness, how can I not be inspired by that? Things are getting better, folks. I hope we won't need as many Kleenex for this one. Hang in there....**

* * *

Just when things went right  
Doesn't mean they were always wrong  
Just take this song and you'll never feel  
Left all alone

Take me to your heart  
Feel me in your bones  
Just one more night  
And I'm comin' off this  
Long & winding road

I'm on my way  
I'm on my way  
Home sweet home  
Tonight, tonight  
I'm on my way  
I'm on my way  
Home sweet home

~ "Home Sweet Home" - Motley Crue

* * *

I.

It was late, but Stan hadn't been in bed long when the doorbell rang. He was still reading in an effort to gear his mind down toward sleep. He had a bad habit of taking his work home with him, staying up into the night trying to shift manpower, money, and messes around so his little kingdom continued to run comfortably for everyone involved, so sometimes sleep was a long time coming.

The three days had been especially horrible. First, Marshall had shown up at his house before Stan could leave for work looking like someone had died and demanding that immediate transfer. Then, the next day, Mary had come in looking for Marshall.... Stan hadn't known even how to start telling her that Marshall was gone. He wasn't sure _exactly_ what it was between the two of them, but he was no fool. He'd been keeping surreptitious tabs on their situation for awhile now, even though he knew they still thought him oblivious. One of the worst moments of his week had been seeing the light die in her eyes when he'd told her Marshall was gone. Then came the third day, today. Stan had not even wanted to go in to work not knowing how many more shoes there were left to drop, but there had been no fireworks, no new mighty revelations. Instead, there had just been Mary, painfully subdued at her desk, staring blindly at Marshall's empty one until she finally just left to go see witnesses. He'd dragged her into the office before she'd had a chance to leave, though....

The doorbell chimed softly again. Stan rose, grabbed a robe to wrap over his striped pajamas, and, with equal casual routine, his gun, and headed for the door. _Now what? _he wondered. _It's just a little too late for Girl Scout Cookies or candygrams, I'm guessing.... _He sighed.

Holding the pistol loosely at his side, he looked through his peephole for a moment, then laid the gun on a side table and started opening the locks. Leaning on one hand against the door facing, head down in the golden glow of his porch light, was a worn-looking Marshall Mann.

Marshall looked up and managed a wan smile. He looked absolutely dead on his feet.

"Marshall! What in the world are you doing here?" He swept Marshall into a rough handshake and hug, tremendously happy to see him. "I thought you were in..."

Marshall hugged him in return, slapping him on the back, before cutting him off a little impatiently. "I was. I was. I drove all day to get back here."

Stan looked at him but didn't speak, didn't let his reaction show on his face.. _Uh-huh. Saw this coming. _A feeling of almost unbearable satisfaction rose inside him. Marshall was still talking.

"Look....the other day when I asked for that transfer, it's just possible that... I....well...maybe...I was a bit precipitous.. that is to say...I was just wondering...well..is there any way that I might be able to...." He fumbled for words, not knowing how to ask for what he wanted. He had a sheepish, weary look on his face and shadows of exhaustion smudged under his eyes.

Stan pulled him into the living room, sat him down on the couch. "Come in, come in. Look, can I get you a drink? Are you hungry?"

Marshall smiled a little and waved away the offer. "No, Stan, I'm good. Really. I can't even think about food right now. All I can think about is that I ...how the other day when I came to see you....I'm just...I was just..."

Stan had wandered across the room to his big briefcase which lay open on the kitchen table where he'd been working earlier. He was rummaging through the contents idly.

"You were just...just what, Marshall? What brought you all the way back here, made you drive what had to be warp-speed across four states for eight straight hours non-stop to show up at my door in the middle of the night looking like hell?" He picked up a folder, peered at it, put it back in the case.

Marshall squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I... was just wondering if there was any way to reverse the transfer. I think I've made a mistake. I think my actions were made in a moment of strong emotion, and Stan, if there's any way possible, I want to come back."

Stan smiled down into the briefcase. _Uh-huh. And this is why they pay me the BIG bucks, ladies and gents. _ He turned around and walked over to Marshall with a folder in his hand, dropped it on the coffee table in front of him. Marshall looked down at it in road-weary astonishment. His name was on the tab in neat computer print. He recognized the folder well. It was the very same one that he'd given Stan three days ago when he'd put in all the documents required for the transfer.... He reached a hand down and flipped the cover of the folder lightly. Inside, all the forms were still there, in rainbow triplicate, no less.

He looked up at Stan who was beaming down at him with a very satisfied smile.

"Let's just say I had a strong feeling it would be in everybody's best interest if got held up in processing for a couple of days...."

Marshall reached out and took Stan's hand, shook it firmly. "Thank you, Stan. Thank you." He leaned against the back of the couch, and for the first time since he'd appeared at Stan's door, the first time in days and days, some of the tension began to leave his body.

Stan sat down in the big leather club chair he'd splurged on for a reading indulgence and put his feet up on the footstool, looked at Marshall for a quiet moment. The younger man was still staring down at the folder full of documents as if it held answers to deep questions, but now that the nervy energy that he'd come in with had left him, he looked as though he might drop at any moment.

"Marshall," Stan said softly, watching his eyes refocus, "you're dead tired. There are things we need to talk about. Big things. But not tonight. Why don't you head on home, get a little sleep, and come see me first thing tomorrow? You're still sort of 'on vacation' as far as the office is concerned, and I will be, tomorrow as well."

Marshall blinked slowly, trying to wrap his brain around an answer that made sense. It was increasingly hard. All he'd been able to think about for so long was reaching Albuquerque, and staying focused on that task and on what, _on who_, lay at the end of it had driven out fatigue, but now.... "Sure. But I need to see Mary." Owlishly, he peered around the living room looking for a clock before he remembered he was wearing a watch. "It's probably too late tonight to go over..." His voice trailed off.

The corners of Stan's lips turned up in a private little smile. "Yeah. It's too late tonight. Take my word for it. In fact, why don't you just crash here...."

II.

Mary stood looking out at the vista before her. The only sound up here was the sighing of the wind through the trees. The sun was setting, and it was supremely peaceful. _Damn. Postcard moments are supposed to feel good. Come on. Enjoy it. _She leaned against the wooden porch post a few more minutes, but the serenity of the nature around her did not sink in, gave no soothing balm to her troubled mind. With a softly muttered curse, she pushed off the post and turned to go inside the tidy cabin behind her.

At Stan's dogged insistence, _more like stubborn command, really, _she thought to herself, she'd come up to this little place he owned in the mountains. She'd been driving for hours and she was tired. Stan swore this place was "good for the soul." He'd also told her point blank that if she didn't get out of the office and take three days of leave at his cabin, he was going to sign her up for mandatory psych sessions with a departmental counselor. Given the choice of a head shrinker or a holiday in the hills, Mary had shot him a venomous look and then beaten a hasty retreat back to her house to pack.

She'd known she looked bad, pale, worn, tired, but she'd caught a glimpse of herself in her bedroom dresser mirror as she was hefting her packed bag to leave, and the reflection had startled her momentarily. _God. Maybe Stan is right. Maybe I do need a few days of R&R. _ She'd paused in the living room near her bookshelves long enough to pull down a couple of paperbacks, bitten back the jagged little cuts of pain that had caused as she realized that the titles her hands fell on were all ones Marshall had recommended or loaned her. She stuffed them in her bag roughly and headed out, throwing her bag in the back of her car with just a little more force than was needed.

She'd cranked the music loud on the drive up, trying to keep her thoughts from turning to Raph, to Marshall, or indeed to anything other than to the eighteen wheelers and potential speed traps ahead of her. She'd grudgingly admitted in the second hour of driving that it did feel good just to be out of ABQ, away from those familiar environs and all the recent horrors associated with them. She'd found herself singing with an old favorite on the radio before she even realized she was doing it, stopped for a moment a little guiltily, then thought _what the hell do I have to feel guilty about? _She belted out the words to the song in a full and mostly happy voice and pushed her foot down on the accelerator.

Now, inside this small but cozy space, Mary was alone with the silence and her thoughts. They formed an uncomfortable trio. As darkness fell, Mary made herself a sandwich from the food she'd brought up with her, tried to read for a little while, but finally tossed the book down in frustration.

_So I wonder where the hell he is. Is he even checking his voice mail these days? Did he abandon that cell? Does he even care that I've ended it with Raph? And don't I just freakin' **hate** it that I sound like a dress extra on a high school soap opera.... Shit. Why can't it be daylight so I can go outside and shoot something?_

She'd been very much hoping that Marshall would call her or give some sign that he'd gotten her message about Raph leaving. She knew she'd not asked him to come back, but she still thought that maybe....

_That maybe what? a_sked that obnoxious, persistent voice in the back of her mind. _What did you really think was going to happen? That there was going to be this knock on the door, and there'd he'd be? And in this little fantasy, what was he carrying? His badge to be your partner again or an armload of roses and a heartful of shmoop? Be honest...._

_Why don't you shut up? s_he snarled. _There was no shmoop of any kind present. _

The other voice snickered wickedly.

_Okay. Very little. And it wasn't shmoop. It was...very grown-up stuff. Clothes on the ground stuff. Nothing hearts or flowers at all. _

_You're forgetting I live up here, too, right? That I see it all from the eagle's view? That you can't lie to me about what you really want?_

She sighed, toyed with the corners of the paperback. When she'd tossed it down, one or two of the pages had folded slightly. She smoothed them down with her fingertips. _Because he hates it when his books get bent....._

Going back to her two-sided conversation with herself, she answered as honestly as she was able since there didn't seem to be any other option or distraction present in this environment. _I...don't know...what I really want from him._

The other voice considered, gentled. _Are you sure about that?_

_Well, I want him back as my partner. I...need him to balance me on the job. He's so good with the little personal crap with the wits that I can't handle. _

_Okay. And...._

_And...I really miss having him around as my friend. Ever since things got so screwed up and we haven't been able to talk and just do stuff, I've felt...I don't even know how to describe it. I go to pick __up the phone ten times a day, and then I remember, he's not going to be on the other end of it, and I feel like hell, like I've lost a goddamn limb or something. It's horrible. _

_And is that all you want him for? 'Cause I think since we're on a roll, we probably better lay all the cards out on the table...._

_Jesus. Maybe I do need my head checked...Okay, yeah, so I __want__ him want him, too. _A frisson of desire tingled through her despite the emotional and physical fatigue of the past few days. _I mean...come on. You were there, right? _

_Yeah. Yeah. I was, indeed. Enough said. So...._

_So..._

_So you want him as a partner, somebody you trust enough to have your back when things get bad and to help you be your best, which, let's face it, you don't do with anybody else, ever. You want him as a friend, somebody you enjoy enough to spend your free time with. You want him as a lover, and we both agree he is imminently qualified for the job. You know what that sounds a whole hell of a lot to me like?_

Mary's heart lurched uncomfortably, and she shifted on the couch, turned the book over in her hands again as the realization crystallized in her mind.

"Oh shit. How the hell did I fall in love with Marshall Mann?"

III.

Marshall woke the next morning in Stan's guest room. He had fallen asleep almost before he could get his boots off and had gotten a surprisingly good night's rest, slept deep, and morning light was now filling the room. There was something about just knowing he was back in Albuquerque that made a portion of his aching heart peaceful. Now, he just needed to see Mary....

Stan was already up and about when Marshall finished getting showered and dressed and met him in the kitchen. Knowing his marshals well, he was already pouring a large mug of coffee and placing it on the table as Marshall came through the door.

"Sit. I'll have some food for you in a minute."

Marshall sat down, suddenly a little unsure. He remembered that Stan had told him they needed to have a serious conversation, but right now, all he wanted to do was get to Mary's house. He also knew that whatever Stan had to say wasn't going to be pleasant. He'd been working with him too long not to read the signs, to know the little softening and delaying tactics his boss was using. He wrapped his hands around the mug and took a long fortifying swallow.

The food was soon ready, and Stan pushed a plate piled high in front of Marshall. Marshall was aware of the watchful gaze of his boss and friend as he ate. _Worried about me. He's always like a hen with chicks with us. _Amusement and fondness flooded through him. It felt good to be back, to be known, to be _worried about_.....

When the food was gone, Stan leaned back in his chair with his cup of coffee. "Now. You and I are going to get a couple of things straight. This thing between you and Mary? You two are either going to find some way to commit or you're going to quit screwing around with each other on the side. You're killing each other and everybody else in the process. I've turned a blind eye to it for a very long time now because I figured it was your own personal business and you two, both of you being as stubborn as you are, needed to find your own way without anybody else gumming up the works. But you can consider this an order, Inspector. Fix it or quit it, but figure it out before I see the two of you again."

He slid a piece of paper across the tabletop to Marshall. Marshall, who'd been staring at Stan with a look of pole-axed shock on his face, recovered enough to take it and managed to make his addled brain process that it was an address.

"That's my cabin up in the hills. I sent Mary there for three days' R&R because...well, let's just say I was expecting to see you fairly soon, okay? Now get yourself up there to where that woman sits tearing herself into pieces and make it right, one way or the other. Do you understand me?"

Marshall started laughing. "Stan, you take the cake."

It was all too sneaky, underhanded, plotty, and complex. It was all too thought-out to the nth degree underneath and seemingly effortless on the surface. He could not have done it better himself had he been the one making the arrangements. It was all just too, too...Stan. He rose, headed for the guest bedroom to grab his gear bag.

Stan's voice echoed down the hall after him. "But do you _**understand**_ me?" There was real seriousness in his tone.

Marshall turned back, met Stan's eyes. "I understand you, Stan. No worries. I won't screw it up this time. This time is for keeps."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Everybody seemed much less angsty after the last chapter, and that made me feel better, too. We're getting there, folks. Just make sure you keep your hands and feet inside the car until the ride comes to a complete stop....and we're not there yet. Oh no. We're not there yet....**

* * *

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane  
Ain't got time to take a fast train  
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
My baby just-a wrote me a letter

I don't care how much money I gotta spend  
Got to get back to baby again  
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
My baby just-a wrote me a letter

Well, she wrote me a letter  
Said she couldn't live without me no more  
Listen mister, can't you see I got to get back  
To my baby once-a more

~ "The Letter" The Box Tops

* * *

I.

Marshall's hands flexed on the wheel of the truck as he drove. He'd been in the driver's seat for so many hours yesterday and today that he was stiff with it, but at least he'd gotten good rest and a break at Stan's. He shifted some, stretching his long legs as best he could with the vehicle's cruise set well above the speed limit. He had decided early in the trip that if he got pulled over he could and would flash his marshal's badge and go on. It wasn't normal behavior for him, but well...he _needed_ to be with Mary, _needed_ to fix the mess he'd made if he could so he could have some kind of peace again, and if it took bending a couple of other very minor rules to get there, then he'd find a way to live with that. It wasn't as though he hadn't crossed other lines, after all.... _Besides_, he smiled just a little at the thought, _Mary would undoubtedly approve, right?_ So far, thankfully, he hadn't been pulled over, so it hadn't become an issue.

He thought again of the recent long drive to that strange town, of his determination to leave Albuquerque and Mary and all the quicksand of the whole situation behind him for both their sakes. The drive itself had been a long blur of agony, a numbness of darkness and cloud-shrouded skies, of windshield wipers clearing rain that gradually had become snow the further north he'd driven. It had matched the confusion and the turmoil in his mind, as if he'd been stricken, in shock after receiving a massive wound. It had felt to some degree the same way he'd felt after he'd been shot, burning pain and his mind separated from everything, desperately trying to make sense of a situation in which there was no logic or order to be had.

His first sight of the place he'd chosen to make his new home had not been filled with promising omens. It had been concrete and asphalt shrouded in ice and snow, and his beauty-loving soul had mourned the loss of nature and color, of open space and largely unobstructed skies. A natural philosopher, he'd tried not to rush to a snap judgment, tried to give this place he was choosing the name of "refuge" instead of the name of "exile." He'd made it as far as the hotel room Stan had booked for him, crashed, exhausted. He wasn't due to report in to his new office for a couple of days, and he'd needed them to try to get his feet under him. He called his new commander, anyway, since he'd known the man already, and they'd exchanged pleasantries.

Marshall had spent that second day looking at newspapers and theorizing about apartments. In reality, though, he'd spent as much time staring at his cellphone on the table, thinking about the voicemails on it, as he had doing any legitimate settling in or moving on. Her first calls after she'd found his letter had been hot enough to peel the soothing ecru paint right off the walls, full of hurt and anger as he'd known they would be. She'd called him a coward for not staying to face her, not staying at least to talk things out, and a not-so-small part of him agreed with her. He'd shuffled uncomfortably at the tiny dinette set in the hotel room when her tone went from angry to lost after she'd talked to Stan, began to understand he was really gone and not coming back. It gave him pain to hurt her, made him begin to doubt for the first time that what he was doing was the right thing.

_If I hurt and she hurts, is this really good? I thought this would be a way for us NOT to hurt anymore, but this... this...._

And then, then in the middle of his questioning had come her last message. He'd been out getting dinner when it rang, and he didn't check the message until he returned, wanting privacy for whatever bombshell he was sure she was dropping. It was so brief, so lacking detail that it made him want to scream with frustration. What _was_ there, though, made his bleeding heart sit up for one last gasp of hope....Raph was gone, and she'd cared enough to call him and tell him this fact. He knew her well enough to hear what she would not say at the end. He was at the front desk taking care of his bill less than ten minutes later.

II.

Mary surprised herself by sleeping late. She felt more rested than she could remember feeling for a very long time when she woke buried in the warm covers. She lay there a while longer, trying to get used to the feeling of there not being anything she had to get up and do.

_Haven't had a vacation in....God, how long has it even been? And of course, last time I took one, I think that was the time I had to go up to Jersey and get Squish out of that jam with that guy named...who was that one?...Oh yeah. Cool Bobby. Fun, fun, fun..._

She sighed at that memory and pulled the other pillow over her face for a moment as if to block out all memory of her family. Then she pushed it aside and got up.

_Well, I've got a real one now, looks like. I think I'll go enjoy some of it._

She took the time to explore her home for the next few days thoroughly, something she hadn't done when she'd arrived the evening before. Stan's cabin was small but elegant. One stepped up to a wide, deep porch with a glorious view down a sloping yard to a treeline that shielded the entire property from view of the main road. A porch swing on the far end invited visitors to sit and enjoy the silence and peace. It had a living room filled with comfortable furniture, shelves of books, and odd knickknacks that Stan had picked up over the years. There was a nice stereo that would also play music to speakers wired up outside on the back deck, but there was absolutely no TV anywhere in the house. Mary smiled at that. She could understand all too well Stan's desire to get away from current events and news since all too often their job dragged them or those they cared about right into the middle of those events kicking and screaming, or worse, silent and cold.

The kitchen was a small space opening onto both the living room and onto the back deck via sliding glass doors for ease of serving guests in both places. A low bar separated part of the interior spaces from one another, but they were largely unobstructed. A short hallway ran between two bedrooms, the master and the guest, one on either side of the cabin, and the bathroom was at the end of the hall, tidy, comfortable, with a large shower stall and a deep soaking tub. Windows were everywhere taking advantage of the tremendous views, even in the bathroom, where they poured light in from the skylights and through frosted panels that would give privacy but allow some of the vistas still to be seen.

Mary walked and looked, opened drawers and cabinets, took stock, cataloged items mentally. She was impressed with Stan's taste in spite of herself, but she couldn't stop the Marshal in her from coming out. _Jesus, Stan. This place is a tactical nightmare. Ever think about trying to defend this place?_

She rummaged around in the kitchen, put together a messy omelet for breakfast, took it outside on the neat little back deck to eat it and look at the view. The little space was pleasant. There was a built-in grill that she could just see Stan enjoying fiddling with and cooking on. There was the small neat wooden patio set she was eating her late breakfast at, and built into the far corner where it could be accessed by stepping out from the master bedroom or the living room was a big jacuzzi, tightly covered. Stan had told her to use it if she wanted, but for now it held no interest. The day was a bright, cool winter one. Looking at the hills around her, she decided that the next order of the day after breakfast would be a hike. She took her empty plate back inside and got dressed.

III.

Marshall kicked the back tire of his truck even though he knew such a gesture was childish and futile.

_Okay. So that was more like Mary than me, but still.... _He sighed. _Of all the times for this thing to choose to have a problem.... I swear, I'm starting to feel like a character in a damn Greek tragedy._

He leaned heavily against the bed of the truck, hands braced, head down. This was a delay he could ill-afford, and his patience was fraying. The fuel pump on the truck had gone out, and the garage in this tiny town he'd been towed to didn't have one, wouldn't be able to get one for a couple of days from a dealership in a larger city.

The rather wizened old man who was the only mechanic in this place came out of the glassed-in office into the main bays and peered up at Marshall quizzically through thick glasses, his white hair sticking up at slightly odd angles.

"You okay, son? Know it's frustrating when these beasts don't run like they ought to."

Marshall forced a slight smile for him and nodded, saying, "It surely is. Especially when you have somewhere you really have to be."

The mechanic made an oddly-appealing, muted little braying noise of amusement. "Ah, well, anything other than a hot date will keep, right?"

Marshall laughed a little ruefully at the absurdity of his own situation. "Actually, I _was_ on my way to see somebody important. Not a hot date, exactly. More like a ...hot apology, maybe? Is there such a thing?"

"Hell yes! Been married for forty years, my boy, and if there's one thing I've learned in that time, it's that the apologies better be as urgent as the courtin' ever was...Oh, what a terrible time to have this thing give you difficulties," he said, smacking the hood of the recalcitrant truck lightly.

They stared at the truck for a moment, musing in silence on the whimsical nature of coincidences and machinery and the almighty wrath of women wronged. Then the old man cocked his head sideways and looked at Marshall speculatively.

"Look, son, if you've got a hot apology to make, you need to be gettin' to it, I suspect. Them kind of things spoil quickly when you leave 'em lingering, if you get my drift. Remember this one time I left to go on a business trip when my Francis was angry with me 'cause I was spending all my spare time fishing instead of with her. Didn't stay and get it fixed up before I went, and by the time I'd gotten home, she'd done gone and redecorated the whole damn house. With flowery stuff. Sold my fishing boat to get the money to do it, too. Vicious woman, when she's angry, is Francis...." His voice trailed off as he contemplated the apparent horrors of either the redesign, life without the boat, or Francis riled. Marshall wasn't sure exactly which. Marshall fought the little smile that wanted to tug at the corners of his lips. Suddenly the mechanic shook his head and brought himself back to the present. "Whereabouts did you say it was that you were headed?"

Marshall pulled the piece of paper with Stan's address on it out and showed it to him. The mechanic's face lit up with a smile.

"That's right up in the hills from here! Ain't no distance at all. I could get you there in thirty minutes or so, and maybe, if you play your cards right, your lady friend can help you with your transportation problems from there." He laughed his rusty, cackling little laugh again. "And, shoot, if you can't sweet-talk her, I reckon you could _probably_ walk it back here before night...."

IV.

Mary was feeling loose and relaxed on the way back to the cabin. It had been good to go, good to move, good to walk at nobody's purpose but her own. She'd spent hours up in the hills climbing, following trails, pausing if something interested her, taking time to sit beside a particularly pretty spot she'd found and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd packed for lunch and just enjoy the feeling of the sun raining down on her, warming her legs, her back, her face. She had the crazy notion that she could feel the stress evaporating from her in the winter light. Now, she'd just seen what she thought was a kind of eagle circling, and she'd stood, breathless, watching the large bird glide.

_Marshall would know. He'd know exactly what that thing is. He could tell me its wingspan, its nesting habits, and probably how many spots are on its damn eggs, too.... _She rubbed a dirty hand over her heart, absently, as if there were an ache there. _Marshall. Where the hell are you? I need you here to tell me what this bird is.... I just need you here.... Are you ever coming back?_

The pleasure of the hike was suddenly dimmed somewhat, and she continued down the trail, pushing harder to try to clear her mind. Suddenly, Mary stopped to take a drink of water. As she did, she heard a sharp, keening cry. She raised her head, slowly lowering her bottle, and looked up into the branches of a nearby tree to see the bird of prey studying her with huge, alert golden eyes. Her heart raced. For just a moment, the two just stared at one another, neither moving. Then the great raptor lifted gracefully into the sky and was gone. Mary saw something flutter down from the branch where it had been, and she stepped forward to pluck a large bronze-brown feather from the ground. She ran it gently through her fingers, scanned the sky again, and then continued on her way back to the cabin.

V.

When Mary reached the cabin, her first and only thought was getting clean.

_Shower now, food after. Maybe even steak. Could maybe even eat a whole cow if I bought one. But first and foremost, clean. _

She was stomping the trail dirt out of the treads of her boots as she came onto the stairs of the deck when her eyes fell on the jacuzzi tub.

_Amending plan now. Shower first. Then wine and fizzy tub. And maybe snack in fizzy tub. THEN whole cow. _

She smiled, sat down on the stairs and pulled the laces of her boots, pulled them off aching feet, and padded across the deck in her socks to take the cover off the jacuzzi and flip on the controls that would set the jets to bubbling. Then she slipped inside and hopped into the big shower stall to power off the dirt and grime of her hike before heading back outside again.

Once she was out of the shower, she didn't bother to dress. _Just going to be naked again in a minute, right? _She wrapped her robe around her instead, pulled her wet hair out of her face with a clip, and headed to the kitchen. She grabbed a very nice bottle of wine from Stan's personal collection, breathing, "Thank you, Mr. McQueen," and looked around at the food she'd brought in frustration for something quick and easy to take out for a snack. _I am NOT going to slice, chop, peel, or even unwrap anything right now, damn it. I just want something fast. I will do the whole cow thing later...._ She shrugged and grabbed the sack of doughnut holes and headed for the jacuzzi, pausing long enough to turn on the stereo, choose some Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday from Stan's cds and adjust the system so the outdoor speakers were on as well.

Outside, she slipped the robe off and climbed into the fizzing, bubbling water. A huge sigh of relief escaped her as it swirled around every place that was aching and complaining after her hike. She closed her eyes. The jets worked her neck, her back, her legs, and it wasn't long before the combination of the wine, the water, and the exercise were making her very sleepy indeed. Ella and Billie's voices were purring through the speakers, another inducement to total relaxation.

_Gonna need a little sugar boost to help me get enough energy to get out of here, probably. _She reached a languid and dripping hand for the bag of doughnut holes, but her fingertips didn't encounter them. A slight frown creased her brow. She walked her hand around on the decking looking for them. Still no bag. Her mouth twisted in irritation, and she swept more broadly. _Where the hell is it? Did it get up and walk off? Has Yogi the Bear taken my pick-a-nic basket?.... _She opened her eyes and looked around for an explanation.

"Looking for something?"

Sitting in a deck chair not five feet from her, _eating_ _her goddamn doughnut holes, _and looking absolutely nothing remotely like the picture of innocence was Marshall Mann.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So....here they are at the vital moment. Everybody wants to know what he'll say. What she'll do. If there's going to be any pie involved. Or any more Kleenex. All I can say, gentle reader, is press on....

* * *

**

I didn't mean a word I said  
And if I hurt you, I'm sorry  
I didn't mean to lose my head  
And if I made you cry, I'm sorry  
It was just another foolish quarrel  
Won't you end it with a kiss  
And just remember this  
Except the TIME I said I love you  
I didn't mean a word I said

~ "I Didn't Mean a Word I Said" - Ella Fitzgerald

* * *

I.

He'd ridden the entire trip down the unpaved road with the little mechanic with his heart in his throat. His driver seemed oblivious to his agony, cheerfully guiding his ancient but well-kept truck down the gravel and dirt road at a snail's pace and talking ninety-to-nothing the whole time. Marshall had been content to let him fill the silence, contributing a noise of agreement or disbelief when it had seemed required and fervently wishing old man would _just drive faster_. After what seemed an eternity, the ancient gentleman slowed the truck at the base of a largish hill. A path cut into the trees ahead, winding up and away from the main road.

"That's the drive to the house there. I'll just put her in gear and...."

Marshall smiled and laid his hand on the mechanic's sleeve. "You know what? I think I'll surprise her and walk up. Just let me out down here."

The old man looked at him for a moment and then let loose with his cackling laugh. "Boy, you must have really screwed up big time if you've got to sneak in on foot covert like this, son. Well, whatever you like. Just remember the way back to town. If push comes to shove, I'm sure Francis would be happy to have you at the house tonight."

Marshall shook his hand. "Thank you, sir. No offense to your lovely wife, but I'm really, really hoping that I don't have to take you up on that..."

II.

He'd approached the house in the shadows of the late afternoon as if it were full of criminals laden with assault rifles rather than one woman he loved more than the moon and the sun and who (he hoped) had feelings for him of a similar if perhaps unadmitted nature. He had no idea what type of Mary was waiting for him in that cozy-looking little cabin or even where she was. It was never a good idea to sneak up on Mary since she was so awfully fond of guns and weapons of destruction, but sneaking up on a Mary who was _already_ an angry Mary..... He sighed. Well, the sheer hassle of breaking in a new partner would probably keep her from killing him before he could talk to her at least a little, right?

As he got near the porch and no shots were fired, his confidence increased. Either she hadn't noticed him yet, or she was going to wait and talk to him before the violence began. He began to hear shimmering bits of music coming to him from somewhere.... He took out the key Stan had given him and slipped it gently into the lock, gingerly opened the big door just enough to peer inside. No Mary. The stereo was filling the house with Ella Fitzgerald's big voice crying for one more chance with lost love, and he scanned the scene carefully, trying to figure out just where Mary might be. He stepped inside the darkening living room, dropped his gear bag, and silently slid down the short hall glancing into rooms as he went. Still no Mary even though the signs of her presence were everywhere, discarded clothing in a corner of the bedroom floor, a damp towel hung neatly to dry over the bar on the shower door. He could even smell the clean scent of her soap in the bath, something that made a hunger in him rumble and ache.

He stepped into the master bedroom for a closer inspection, and as he did so, something out the open sliding door that led onto the deck caught his eye, a moment, a tiny gesture. He froze, then moved instinctively out of direct line of sight, and watched as Mary reached out to grab a glass of wine sitting next to the big jacuzzi tub she was soaking in on the back deck. He felt his heart surge and his mouth go dry. Her hair was still damp and carelessly twisted up on top of her head with a big clip. She had her head back on the contoured neckrest with her eyes closed. She was in the water up to her chin except when she sat up to reach for the glass of wine and then her neck, shoulders, arms, and the upper portion of her beautiful breasts slipped out of the hot bubbles, revealing a flush there caused by the temperature. She was exquisite.

_Oh God, how did I ever think there was any way I could ever possibly live without wanting her, without being near her, ever possibly control this? Look at her. She's Venus rising from the sea...._

_Ha! _said another voice in his head almost immediately, _more like Diana in her bath. And you know how well that turned out for Actaeon. Have you checked your head for antlers lately, Mann? Your backside for dog teeth? Cause there's no way in hell you're going to get away with this for much longer...._

He slowly crept out of the bedroom's open door expecting at any moment for her to open her eyes and for the yelling portion of the evening to begin. Moving silently was nothing for him, a second nature, but he still shouldn't have been able to sneak around _her_ with this ease. She seemed softer now, though, tired or sleepy, and she didn't even seem to notice his presence there. _Maybe it's the wine or the music. _ He smiled. _Well, she's going to be seven kinds of pissed any way this plays, so...._ He inched a little closer, lightly snagged the bag of doughnut holes she had sitting beside the wine, retreated quickly to a nearby chair, opened them carefully, and popped one in his mouth. _So let's just see how long this lasts._

_Mmm. Was hungry. And now I have sugar and...eye candy. Yeah. She's going to shoot me. Aaaaanny minute now. Good thing she can't read my mind.... _A truly evil little grin teased his lips as he continue to watch Mary relax and sigh in the jacuzzi. His mind was spinning interesting scenarios, some few of which involved those hot water jets working on his travel-stiff spine, but increasingly as time went on involved the two of them twined together, his mouth open on her....

And that was when he saw her hand clench in frustration at not being able to find her sweet treat, saw her eyes flutter open. He nibbled another of the pastry bites as she focused on his presence for the first time, saw it register on her face for the first time, saw the burst of hot happiness, pure joy that flared in her eyes instantly smothered by annoyance and fear, and instead of going over and dragging her out of the hot tub and into the bedroom as he wanted to do, he went with humor.

"Looking for something?"

III.

_He's here! It's him! It's really, really Marshall and he's really, really there!_ Her heart sang, danced, trilled, yearned, beat wildly. But then....

"You bastard." She shifted in the tub, to rise, to get him, to beat him bloody and senseless, _to shoot him_, remembered her current state of undress and weaponlessness and subsided, choosing a lethal glare instead.

He smiled, gave that graceful little nod of acknowledgment with his head, reached into the bag again with his hand.

"Yeah. That would be me."

"Where the living _fuck_ have you been? No, wait, don't tell me. It might not, after all, be in my goddamn _best interest_ to know, right?" Her rage and disdain were icy, imperial as she gazed at him.

_Aaannnd here we go. Round one, and we're officially out of our corners, _thought Marshall.

"Mare," he said softly, "I..."

"Don't you 'Mare' me. You've given away the right to all nicknames and affectionate terms of address. You _left_, Marshall. You know, I never figured you for a coward, but I guess I was mistaken, because...." She splashed water as she gestured wildly. "Voi-effin-la! You got out of that bed while I was sleeping and you _ran away_. In the middle of the fucking night. You _left me_ lying there in _your own bed_ like was a one-night stand in a by-the-hour motel.... and then that note, that note, oh my GOD...."

"No. Stop." His voice took on an edge, sharper than he intended it to be, and she looked up at him, surprised, as he rose, paced, ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, consciously struggling to soften his tone, to avoid conflict. "Mare, I...no. I wasn't running away from you."

"Then I have to say it's the best impression I have ever seen of it. What the hell were you doing then? I came out to find you the night before drunk out of your mind, and then we... then you... then we....and then you were gone!"

He grabbed his chair, dragged it over to the edge of the hot tub, turned it around and straddled it, crossed his arms over the back, leaned to face her again. He was silent for a moment, just studying her, the crossed arms, the mutinous expression. "Believe it or not, I was trying to save us both some pain." He made an acknowledging gesture at her incredulous snort. "At the time, it was the only way I could think of to stop the cycle we were stuck in."

"What fucking cycle, Marshall, and how could you even think that I would want you to..."

"Cycle, Mare? What cycle? Come on! There was Texas where we stepped out a little after the gunfight, and then we both felt guilty and things got weird, but we recovered mostly, could lay it off on stress and opportunity. And....and...if one of us...if I...felt a little more than I should have, then that was just something I would live with, right? I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I'd taken those feelings and shoved them in a damn drawer...."

_Wait....did he just say?_

"... And then there was the wedding, and you catching me under the stars and telling me that you thought about it, thought about Texas, about us together again....It was enough to tempt a stone saint, Mare....How could I tell you no? Even without the way I feel about you, Mare, I probably wouldn't have tried that night, with shooting stars and us dancing all night and that kiss.... Then we were right back at square one, only this time we couldn't blame the stress, could we? This time, it was all about consenting adults and maybe something else if we were honest....."

Mary shifted a little uncomfortably at the portrait he was painting, but said nothing, let him go on. Part of her mind was shrinking from the realization of what she'd done to him, but her heart was also beating rapidly as she began to admit to herself for the very first time something she had known and ruthlessly repressed for a very long time....

_He....he...loves...me.... He LOVES me...._

"But we never are, are we?" He sighed deeply. "And you were wearing that ring, and it was killing you that you'd broken your word to Raph," he spat the word like it was an obscenity, "and it was killing me that you were in pain because of what we'd done even though it was...beautiful," and he reached out a finger lightly to push a stray strand of hair away from her cheek. "So we put it aside again, and I prepared myself to live on whatever crumbs you would give me." His expression turned dark, sad, and he got up, walked back toward the house. "And then you told Raph about WITSEC...."

"Marshall..." She murmured his name, her anger long since having evaporated.

He turned back to her, and the pain in his eyes was still there like a scar not yet completely healed. "I think I understand why you did it now, Mare. I've thought about it a lot, really, over the last four days. Do you want to hear my theory?"

She made a little gesture with her hand, watching him cautiously.

"You thought that if you told him your most valuable secret you'd have to go through with the wedding. You'd be binding yourself to him with bonds you wouldn't be able to break. You were trying to paint yourself into a corner...."

She remained silent. She had come to the same conclusion herself not so long ago, after all, hadn't she?

"Anyway, I couldn't stand it. I felt like you'd stabbed me right in the back. It was the craziest thing....I guess I felt like...like.. you were cheating on _me_ somehow when you told him. I know that doesn't make any sense at all, but there you have it...." He laughed, bitterly, stared off into the distant hills now bathed with the colors of the setting sun, back to her.

She stirred. "No, Marshall, I get it." And she did. She knew him. She understood how sacred WITSEC was to him, to them both, how he'd feel more betrayed by her sharing that special part of their lives together with Raph than by her sharing her body with him. Because Marshall knew her, too, understood that while she had sometimes been casual with men about sex, men that included Raphael Ramirez, she had never once, not even one single day in her life, been casual about the job.....

"And then, when you came and got me in the bar, wouldn't go away, and we...I....we... I should never have treated you like that, Mare. I'm sorry about how rough I was with you. I...was...hurting and drunk, and those are not meant to be excuses for it, but I was just so full of.... I'm sorry. That's all I can ever say. When I realized what I'd said, what I'd done, how I'd just.... I realized that we were stuck in a cycle, like I said before. We were just going to keep going around and around this way tearing little pieces out of each other until there was nothing left. There was never going to be any tenderness, any joy. It was all going to be this downward spiral with our jaws locked in each other's throats. And, Mare, I couldn't do that to you. I...care....too much... about you to do that to you.... The transfer was something I'd been thinking about for awhile as a last-ditch escape plan if all else failed, and that morning, I just decided to take it."

"So you ran away to try to end us hurting?" Her question was gentle, the tone softer than any he'd heard her use in a long time. He heard the sloshing sounds of water moving, realized that she was getting out of the tub. He continued to stare out over the horizon in front of him. Either she would accept his explanation or not. There wasn't a whole lot left he could say, now....

"Yeah. More or less."

"So you were going to leave ABQ, leave your home, leave everything here you love behind just to try to save me some pain and confusion?" Her voice was closer now, slightly skeptical, coming from behind him as she approached.

"Yeah."

"Then that makes you either the biggest hero or the biggest idiot I have ever met, Marshall. I'm not quite sure which." Her arms slid around his waist and she hugged him from behind. His eyes swept closed with the contact, with the affection in her voice, and something broken inside him started to heal.

"Probably the latter." He turned to wrap his arms around her. He held her tightly to him, rested his cheek against her hair enjoying the feeling of her nearness, the scent of her, the way she fit against him, those things he never thought he'd have again.

For her part, she was listening to the steady beat of his heart under the soft cotton of his winter flannel shirt and holding him as close as she could, breathing in the smell of him, of partner, of friend, of Marshall.

There was one more thing that she needed to know.

"Why did you come back?"

He smiled against the top of her head. "I was unhappy the minute I was gone. I was miserable by the time I got there. When I got your first phone messages, I was in despair. By the end of the second day, I was totally without hope and questioning every decision I'd ever made. Every call of yours I heard made it that much worse." His hands ran soothingly up and down the terrycloth of her robe-covered back. She nuzzled her face gently against his chest. It felt so good to be held again, to be close again.

"That's not an answer, Marshall...."

He chuckled softly, pulled away from her slightly, pulled her by the hand over to the bench seat that ran around the deck's edge. He sat down and tugged her lightly into his lap, cradled her there despite her irritated expression at the position. She reluctantly leaned against his shoulder, reached out to fiddle with the top button on his shirt.

"I'm still waiting. Idiot."

"I see you've made up your mind."

"I had some assistance here in the last moment or two that might have tipped the scales."

"Ah. Well. In that case. It was your last phone call that did it."

She remembered the call so well, remembered what she'd said and what she'd longed to say, what she'd wanted to plead for.

"Why did it make you want to come home, Marshall?" She stopped playing with the button and she looked up at him only to be snared by the utter intensity of the eyes that were waiting for hers.

"Because it was that phone call that gave me hope that I could come back here and have a chance to tell you something I've needed to tell you for a long, long time, Mare. Tell you like an honorable man, for better or for worse, and take my chances with it."

_Her heart wasn't working properly. She had to be having palpitations or some kind of attack. It shouldn't be jumping around on her like this, skipping beats and speeding up.... Ohgodohgodohgod...._

She licked her lips, unconsciously inviting. "What...what is it you want to tell me?" Her voice was less strong than she'd wanted it to be.....

His hand came up to trace the contour of her cheekbone, cup her face. His thumb traced gently over the bow of her lips. His eyes locked back on hers, and she felt all her bones turn to water.

"I need to tell you what you have to already know, Mare. I...love you. I have for a long time now. I'm not telling you this because I expect any kind of similar declaration from you. I'm not coming here to stake a claim on you now that you're free. I just need to tell you this so you can understand some of what's been going on. It's sort of the last piece of the puzzle, I guess."

The last of the pain of his leaving fled, chased out by the bright happiness of hearing those words. Had she known? Yes, she'd known it. She'd seen it in his eyes a hundred hundred times, when he'd held her back, held her up, or simply held her as the situation had called for it over the years. She'd seen it shining like newly-minted gold in those precious and incredible moments when they'd been together, when he'd touched her, whether his hands had been steady or shaking with need, and she'd known then, although she had not been ready to admit it to herself, that he had made her the center of his worlds. Now, the knowledge was welcome, was a healing balm to wounds that had gone too long untreated, and her battle-worn soul sighed with the peace of torment departing.

He was watching her intently, hand still cradling her face, and he saw flickering in her eyes...something...but it had been so long since he had had anything like a real hope that he feared to ask for one. Then she smiled. Her hand came up to slip into his hair, and she pulled his face down to hers, saying with her sudden kiss what her words had not yet told him. His heart, startled, pounded against her.

He pulled away, needing the words, needing to hear it after so long of being unsure, being denied.

"Mare?" he asked, and there was an eloquent universe in that question.

"I do," she answered. "It took me a long time to see it. I'm sorry, Marshall. I've been blind. I was trying so hard to make things work with Raph because I thought it was the right thing to do. I don't know why I couldn't see that the right thing had been standing beside me, walking with me all along." She kissed him again, softly, sweetly. He was trembling.

"Say it, please. Just once," he murmured against her lips.

She smiled against his kiss. "Looking for a binding verbal contract, are we?"

He smiled again, briefly, "With you? Absolutely."

She pushed away lightly and sat up, gently pushed his hair out of his face, looped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and stared into his eyes for a long moment.

"Okay...here goes...I love you, Marshall Mann." And she felt the shudder of response run all the way through him just before his hands spread across her back and pulled her tightly against him and his mouth slanted boldly and hungrily across hers.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Order up! (And I hope you had a very light lunch and a very strong craving for pie.) And if that's not enough of a hint, I suppose the song lyrics will do it. Isn't it wonderful how there's just a song for _everything_? :)

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**

Want you to rock me baby, rock me all night long  
Want you to rock me baby, rock me all night long  
Well I want you to rock me baby, like my back ain't got no bones

Sun goin' down, the moon begin to rise  
Sun goin' down, the moon begin to rise  
Well I want you to rock me baby, till you make me satisfied

Rock me easy, rock your baby slow  
Rock me easy, rock your baby slow  
Well you know I want you to rock me so easy, till I don't wanna rock no more

~ "Rock Me Baby" - Muddy Waters

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I.

She met him kiss for fervent kiss, and her hands on the back of his neck gripped, slipped up to fist in his hair. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel the strength of him against her and to know for the very first time, that there was _no reason whatsoever that they should not be together this way_. The thought thrilled her, freed her, made her hungry for more than kisses, and she made a throaty little noise of need against his mouth, sucked on his tongue.

His response was immediate, a growling groan and his kisses intensifying until she was dizzy with them. She felt one of his hands slip down to the belt of the robe and pull the loose bow undone, slide inside to find her hip, caress its way up her, fingers spread wide as if he longed to touch as much of her as he could at one time. She could feel his large hand spanning her just under the place where her breast met her ribcage, fingertips stroking gently, back and forth, back and forth. She began to undo the buttons of his shirt one at a time so she could explore the muscles and planes underneath the warm fabric of his shirt, hand trapped between the heavy outer shirt and the thin soft cotton of the tee he wore beneath.

Suddenly he broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck. She rolled her head back, inviting him to press his lips down the lovely column of her throat, seek out the sensitive spots that would make her murmur and shift, and unable to deny her, he gently nibbled, gently kissed. She could sense restraint in him, though. The fire he'd been kissing her with a moment ago was dampered, held back. She opened her eyes and he sat back to meet them.

"Marshall?" she said, gently running her hand over his tousled hair, smoothing it down.

He understood her unasked question, and he removed his hand from her naked waist to take her hand in his own, pull it to his lips, kiss it.

"This is going to sound stupid to you..."

Her lips quirked in amusement. "When has that ever even slowed you down in the past?"

"Ha-ha." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "I was just thinking..."

"Boy," she muttered as if she were saying it to herself, "I really am slipping if he's still thinking while we're kissing...Jeeezus. Gotta shape that up, then..."

He grinned again, and gently placed one fingertip lightly against her lips. Her eyes got big, then narrowed down to dangerous golden slits at the light restraint. "Now will you listen? Please? You can hurt me all you want to in just a minute. Promise." Her mouth twisted behind his finger, and then she nodded. "Good. Thanks. This is important to me..." He took a deep breath, leaned in and replaced his finger briefly with his lips, then leaned away and brought the finger back again. Silent laughter danced in her eyes at his lack of trust in her.

"I just realized that this is sort of...our first time...tonight, and I want us to take our time with it, go slow, enjoy it, make it what it ought to be, ought to have been." She shifted, and he anticipated her comments as only he could have done. "I know, I know...you're thinking what about Texas? What about that night under the stars?" She noticed he very deliberately did not name the night at his house... _Ah Marshall, that night wasn't all bad. Gonna have to teach you how to unbend a little with some stuff because there were one or two things that night that I __**will**__ be looking for a repeat performance of later on..._ "You know what, as _nice_ as some parts of those nights together were, there was always some shadow hanging over us, some lack of control, some guilt we were trying to outrun or that we knew would be coming with the sunlight. Tonight is the first night that is just ours, and I want us to... savor it. Okay?"

She nodded, smiling against his finger, and he slowly lowered his hand to let her speak at last. "Okay. But you're going to need to tell me what you had in mind so I can get up to speed if this is complicated. Because _my_ plans for the evening were pretty transparent," she purred, and she took his hand in both her own, brought his index finger back to her lips, and gently sucked it between her lips as far as the first bend. The innuendo in her voice and the action of her mouth, the swirl of her tongue and the gentle scrape of her teeth, made his eyelids sweep closed and he swallowed hard, reclaiming his now-slightly-shaking hand slowly.

His voice was husky as he said, "Let me show you instead."

II.

At his insistence, they started with food. Mary pouted at the loss of his body pressed against hers with the promise of immediate satisfaction, but her mood brightened considerably as she sat at the bar and watched Marshall in Stan's small kitchen preparing the meal. He prepared the grill first, and then took the steaks she'd had set aside for her post-hot-tub meal and concocted a marinade from some other ingredients he found in Stan's cabinets and shelves. He then set about adding some potatoes and other items he found in her haphazardly-filled shopping bags to them for side dishes.

"I take it culinary masterpieces and fine cuisine weren't a part of your travel provender," he said, holding up a can of pork-n-beans and looking at it askance before putting it aside to pick up a knife and the cutting board to start work on the potatoes.

She grinned at him unrepentantly and shrugged. "You sure seemed to like some of my food choices earlier," she teased, and gestured toward the now half-empty bag of doughnut holes sitting on the cabinet nearby.

He smirked at her. "Ah, yes. Well, everything's good if it's sticky sweet, right?"

For a moment she almost fell off her chair, and she did cough on the swallow of wine she'd been taking. _Did he just say what I think he said? And even if he didn't...oh sweet saints, can I just have that recorded on an endless loop and pretend like he did? _She studied his expression, noticed the slightest of blushes across his cheekbones. _Oh look, well, he's thinking it now, soooo... Let's yank that chain, shall we? One should never miss a chance to yank a chain... _She smirked right back, leaned on her elbows over the countertop, and her tone dripped with innuendo. "Mmm... yeah. Plus, as memory serves me, it seems you have a bit of a sweet tooth, don't you, Marshall?" There was a challenge in her eyes.

He was slicing potatoes, and he grinned down at the cutting board, the blush on his cheeks growing a bit more pronounced. "I'll admit to...certain cravings... now and again." He slid his gaze to hers for just a moment, really no more than a glance up through long lashes, but the heat from those eyes was a physical, tangible thing, and she felt her entire body respond to the promises he was making with just that single, brief look.

_Want him. Want him now. Don't want to wait for silly food or whatever the hell else he has in mind. Just want him want him want him... _

She set her wineglass down on the bar and came around to stand beside him in the curve of the counter as if she were observing his work, deliberately too close, deliberately pressed into his side. "And do you ever...indulge any of those cravings? Or are you one of those people who believes in self-denial?" Her tone was husky.

He put the knife down and wiped his hands on a towel, turned to face her. "You know what? I used to be. For a long, long time, I believed it was better to refrain from...consuming the things I crave," he said in a musing voice that, like hers, was lower than usual, betraying him despite the logical sound to his words.

"How about now?" She murmured, running her hands lightly up his arms to his shoulders, resting them there, waiting for it. _Because I just have this feeling..._

"Now? Well, now, I have to admit, my feelings are a bit different on the subject," he lowered his head a bit so his breath whispered over her mouth, stepped closer to her, crowding her back against the cabinets, a slow, wicked smile sliding over his mouth. His hands fell lightly to the countertop on either side of her hips, effectively hemming her in.

_Tease. God. Going to...shit! Come on... _"S-s-so...how do you feel?" she whispered, determined to play it through to the end despite the fact that she wanted to climb him like a cat up a tree, wanted to throw him down in the middle of the clean tile floor and shred his clothing and just _take_...

He nuzzled a featherlight trail up her neck to her ear, and she shivered at the sensation before he breathed, "Well, now, I have to say I'm a new man, Mare. One who's decided to partake," a kiss on her lips, teasing, catching her bottom lip between his teeth lightly, "lap up," another,deeper, his tongue slipping in to flick against her own, "consume," another, and the world was spinning, "and sup," one last hot melding of his mouth on hers, "whenever I feel like it." And he broke away to suck her earlobe lightly, listening to her ragged breath.

"Oh, God, Marshall," she murmured as he kissed his way down her neck, "tell me you're not going to make me wait anymore... I...I...that's just cruel..."

He was laughing softly, little puffs of breath against her skin as he kissed her. His hands found the belt of the robe, tugged lightly, flipping the lapels open and slipping inside it to cup her breasts boldly, thumbs lightly circling just outside her nipples, and her head fell back at his touch, her hands clutching now at his shoulders for support as her knees went weak. The robe slipped down her shoulders to hang from her elbows. He looked at her, and the humor banked deep in his eyes, disappearing momentarily under the blaze of desire.

"Mmm," he hummed deep in the back of his throat as he looked at her there pinned between his body and the cabinet. "Of course, there's always some prep work to be done before every meal," he whispered, lightly rolling her nipples just to watch the expression on her face, just to watch her lips part on a soft moan. "And then, there are always the appetizers..." He dipped his head, hands coming down to span her waist as he sucked one nipple deep into his mouth. Her whole body jerked in reaction, curved demanding _more, more,_ and she ran her fingers through his hair to hold him against her as he lovingly laved and suckled her.

He transferred his attention to the other breast, peppering tiny kisses across skin growing increasingly feverish as he moved from one to the other, taking the time to nuzzle the rosy peak before drawing it between his lips. She looked down at him to see his eyes open and on her face, watching her reactions to his kiss, his touch, and their gazes locked as he continued to give her pleasure with his mouth, the intensity of it somehow magnified by the connection of their eyes. Unable to maintain the eye contact, her head fell back with a muttered curse, and she felt him smile against her skin.

_You win that round, _she thought, and then her thoughts spun away with the continued sensation.

He stood again, lifted her lightly, and sat her down on the clean curving end of the workstation countertop as his mouth pressed against hers, tongue slipping in to dance against hers. The robe still clinging to her arms served as a barrier between her bare bottom and the cold stone, but because it constricted her after he placed her, he helped her slide it down and off as their mouths continued to mate, to meld. His hands found her hips, and he pulled her lightly forward until her hips met his own, and she groaned as she felt the evidence of his desire for her pressing against her behind the denim of his jeans. _Now there's a main dish I want some of **now**..._ She slipped a hand down from his chest to between them to caress the taut bulge there, and he broke the kiss with a shuddering sigh, rocked his hips against her hand for a moment, and then caught her wrist, brought her hand to his lips.

She growled in frustration, recognizing by now his stalling technique. "Marshall..."

"No...this is just the first course...the _amuse bouche_ as the French might say..."

"My bouche isn't very fucking amused right now, Julia Child, and what I want is so much more than a mere mouthful..." She tightened her legs around his waist, was gratified to feel the instinctive twist of his hips before he stopped it and the little grunt that escaped him.

His lips quirked and he brought a hand up cradle her cheek gently, amusement and arousal in his expression. " No? My apologies...Let me see what I can do about that right now..." And he gave her one of those mind-altering kisses of his. As his tongue slid against hers, dancing, dueling, she felt his hand slide down from her waist to the top of her thigh, and she shifted, waiting, needing. _Ah, yes...touch me, Marshall, that's right..._

"Still not amused?" he purred. "Try this." And he ran his fingertip along the crease of the joining of her thigh to her body, so close to where she wanted his touch, teasing the golden curls that were already damp for him, spread for him around the width of his own waist. Her hips hitched against his, and she murmured his name, "Marshall, damn you..."

He smiled gently, wickedly against her lips. "No, not yet? What about now?" And he dipped one finger into the wet center of her, traced it through her swollen folds slickly, slowly, taking the time to find every place that made her tense and shudder, gasp and groan. He stroked her over and over. Finally, he began to circle the erect bud of her clitoris with his thumb and thrust a finger hard inside her, began to move it with a leisurely rhythm. She was leaning heavily against him, and his mouth was swallowing every tiny sound of pleasure she made, her hips beginning to move against his hand seeking more.

He pulled back, his hand still stroking, teasing, caressing, and he watched the sensations cross her face as he touched her. "Still not amused?" he rasped in her ear. She couldn't respond. She was so close, but he was keeping her hanging there, in a place wrapped in pleasure.

"Mmm...Mare...I wish you could see what I see," he whispered. "God, you're exquisite. And you know what?" His hand never, even for a minute, stopped its slow steady rhythm between her legs, stroking, stroking, stroking... "I think maybe the mouth that needs to be amused right now is mine." He dropped to his knees in front of her, his height making the low cabinets of Stan's kitchen exactly the right height for...

Mary's body fell backwards, bowed right back up in reaction as Marshall's tongue swept over her. He slipped her thighs over his shoulders and pushed her open wide. He explored every crevice of her slowly, hungrily, avidly, and she cried out as she came when he sucked the swollen bud of her clit between his lips and flicked his tongue against it again and again as he thrust his finger back into her hard and fast. He gave her no waiting time, no time to come down, using instead the flat of his tongue to lap at her firmly while he slid another finger into her, curving, reaching for the most sensitive spot inside her. Her hips jerked under his mouth, and she came, crying out and totally unable to stop herself from it, when she opened unfocused eyes and looked down to see him watching her again with eyes so hot a blue they burned.

He rose, leaned down over her to kiss her, and as it had been that night in Albuquerque, she could taste herself on his lips. She was still panting, still recovering, and she could feel him pressed like a steel rod against her. "Off," she murmured, tugging at his shirt, and he shed it and the tee under it quickly, eagerly complying before returning to press naked flesh to naked flesh as he took her mouth again. She reached down between them to his zipper, and when he would have pushed her hand away to continue to savor the delay, the slow build, she bit his bottom lip none to gently and squeezed him softly through the denim. He smiled against her mouth, held both his hands up to the side as if she were holding a gun on him, let her do as she would.

"Damn straight," she muttered against his lips, and she popped the button and pulled down the zip with a firm tug, grateful that he for once wasn't wearing one of his large belt buckles. _Oh, so much better than Christmas..._ she thought as he sprang free, pushing the bright blue boxers down his lean hips to skate to the floor with the jeans. She wrapped her hand around the length of him, delighted to feel the shiver of pleasure run through him at her light touch. She stroked him twice, gently, and he growled, his hips thrusting against her hand, her hips, as he watched her hand on him. His hands fell back to the countertop to brace himself against the pleasure that was rising.

She looked at the glistening tip of him and she tilted her head slightly, caught his eyes, and very slowly dragged the pad of her thumb over the head, spreading the slick moisture in mind-altering little circles, making sure to stroke firmly just under the sensitive crown. His hips rocked, and he groaned. "God, M-m-Mare...yeah...just like that..."

She leaned in, used her free hand to reach up and tweak his nipple, watched his whole body twist in reaction, then kissed him, wrapped her hand around him and began to work him in earnest. He buried his face in her neck, and as she caressed him, she felt his mouth open, felt his teeth there, nipping lightly, felt his tongue come out to lap, to suck, knew she'd carry his mark there again tomorrow, and _she didn't care... _

_Want to make him lose control, want to make him go beyond himself, and I know just how..._

She continued to work his shaft with firm strokes, and she leaned up to whisper in his ear, "You know what, Marshall? You got all the appetizers, and I don't really think that's fair. Do you?"

He was beyond words, almost beyond responding. He made a sound that might have been the beginnings of understanding her. His hips bucked against the rhythm of her hand.

"I mean, you kept all the _sticky sweet_ for yourself...greedy, that." She gave him a kiss that was almost enough to send him over by itself. A soft desperate noise was coming from the back of his throat and he was shuffling his feet slightly as he sought some change_, any change_, that would let him find release from the pleasure/agony she kept him hanging in, but Mary smirked to herself. _Oh no, Marshall, Oh no, you beautiful man. You're not done until I say. This is my craving. Watching you come apart, watching all the layers stripped away, hearing that little sound, and in just a minute...yeah...and I think...I think..._.

"I think I want mine _now._" She slid off the counter, onto her knees on the floor in front of him, still stroking, still teasing, and that sound in his throat was becoming breathless words... trying to become meaning...

"Oh God, Mare...Ohgodmareohyes..."

"And I'm not patient, Marshall. You know this. I like...instant gratification..." She pressed a lapping kiss to his flat abdomen, nuzzled the dark trail she found there leading down, and his hands threaded through her hair desperately.

He was as still as he could be, but his hips were hitching forward in spite of himself, and she smiled. "So I believe I'll just take what I want. Like this." And she sucked him down hard. He cried out, hips rocking as she used her tongue to coax him into an orgasm so intense every muscle in his body clenched and he collapsed to his knees, crying out as it hit him.

She caught him on his way down, wrapped her arms around him, eased him to the floor, and held him as they recovered. As he came down, he looked at her, hands gently framing her face, pushing damp hair back, a ridiculous grin slowly spreading over his face.

"What?" she asked softly, feeling much too pleased with him and with herself, with the world in general to be very irritated no matter what was about to fall out of his mouth.

"I was just thinking that if this was just the appetizer, we may not survive the main course..."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, pushed him away so that he tumbled back gently on the floor. He laughed his crazy happy laugh, leaned up on his elbows to look at her.. "Oh my God with the culinary metaphors. And also, speak for yourself, idiot," she murmured, mock angry. But she eyed him, let her gaze run over his lean form lying there against the tile like a work of art. Incredibly, she felt something stir inside her despite what had just happened. She let it show in her eyes, in her slow feral smile, in the tone of her voice, in the feline stretch of her body. "Because you know I have one hell of an...appetite. How about you?"

Marshall's grin just broadened.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Weren't we all hungry! Goodness me. I love my reviewers. You are all just the best in the world. I'm glad you're reading, enjoying, and bothering to take time to tell me. Thank you! As for pie, I checked the cupboard, and lo and behold it seems there might be seconds to go around. I know there's been rife speculation about all the earlier description about the cabin and all its accouterments, especially one particular feature...**

**I also apologize about the tremendous lag in updates. I have been finishing up my school year, traveling a bit, and also got derailed somewhat by a Doctor Who fic that grabbed me. While the Doctor Who fic is still rolling, the other things have abated somewhat, so you should see updates here more often. On with the show.

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**

Oh, Shine on, shine on harvest moon, up in the sky;  
I ain't had no lovin' since April, January, June or July.  
Snow time ain't no time to stay outdoors and spoon,  
So shine on, shine on harvest moon, for me and my gal.

~ "Shine On, Harvest Moon" circa 1931

* * *

I.

Now that the leading edge was off at least one of their appetites, Marshall insisted that they actually cook the steaks and eat the food he had been in the process of preparing. He pulled her against him as they got up from the cold tiles since they were more than a little unsteadily. She gave him an expression that would probably have made a lesser man flee. Marshall only grinned at her, dodging lightly to the side when she punched.

"Maaaarree," he coaxed, lifting her discarded robe to hold out to her, "come on. Steak. You know you love steak."

She muttered as she walked over to snatch the garment from his hands. "'So not the _beef_ I am interested in right now, Marshall..." She thrust her hands through the sleeves a little sulkily, crossed her arms over her chest. _Crude. I know it's crude, but dammit..._

He threw back his head and laughed outright. "Ah. Irony is a bizarre thing at times, you know that?" And he crossed over to his gear bag to pull out a folded-up pair of flannel pajamas bottoms and shake them loose with a dramatic snap. They were white with brown-and-cream spotted longhorn bulls on them, all of which had their tongues sticking out as if giving raspberries. Mary looked at them and at him for a moment, speechless.

"What...how...what do you even say to something like that?" she said weakly.

His brow arched wickedly, and he tilted his head sideways just a bit. "I'm thinking the most appropriate response probably has to be...Moo..."

_Good God. I totally set him up for that one. Lobbed it right over the net pretty as a picture... Think sex addled my brain. Can't believe I didn't see that one coming..._

She just walked away down the hall to the master bedroom shaking her head to the sound of his continued laughter.

II.

They ate outside on deck. The night was clear and cold, but Stan had a lovely little butane outdoor heater that kept the area near the table warm and toasty. Mary had slipped into pajamas of her own, deciding that if she was going to have to eat, she damn sure wasn't going to do it naked under a bathrobe. _Because it's all fine and good if there's sex involved, but otherwise...well..._ She hadn't missed Marshall's slightly mournful expression when she'd come out of the hallway wrapped in her winter pjs which consisted of a very old pair of sweatpants and a large loose long-sleeved tshirt.

_Teach you to put food first, cowboy. Or should I say cow-boy. Geez. _

Her eyes swept over him as they ate. He was wearing the pajama pants, and he'd pulled the tshirt he'd worn earlier back on with them.

_Wearing much too much as far as I'm concerned. Hell. I'd have sex with him again if for no other reason than to get him out of those damn pants. That pair won't be making it back down the mountain, methinks..._

Marshall was talking, but she wasn't focused on what he was saying. He waved his fork at her, amused at her frowning expression as she gazed down at the leg of his flannel pajamas.

"Are you even listening to me at all?"

She shifted her eyes upwards and sighed. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was telling you about my truck."

"Oh yeah. Where _did _you park it? I never did hear the engine earlier. That was awfully stealthy of you."

"Don't be too impressed. There was no engine to hear. That's what I was trying to tell you."

"Okay. Let's start this over. Clearly, the damn silly cows distracted me. Another reason they must die."

He smirked. "They are clearly very masculine bulls, and you be leaving them alone, missy."

_Missy? _Her eyebrows rose and then her eyes narrowed dangerously. An evil smile spread across her face. He matched it with one of his own, unphased.

"Anyway...I was trying to tell you that the truck is dead, at least temporarily. I had to leave it with a mechanic in that little town a couple miles back. He's supposed to be getting a new fuel pump and putting it on, but it's going to take at least two days. I...I hope that's not a problem. I..I didn't want to intrude on your vacation up here for too long." He turned the fork hesitantly in his long fingers, a question in his eyes.

_Even after everything, he's still not sure. And I guess it's just going to take some time for both of us all the way around. There's no such thing as a quick-fix. _She sighed mentally. But to him, she smiled and said...

"Idiot. What did you think I was going to do? Kick you out? Did you really think I was going to make you walk back into town, just you and your spotted cows on the lonely winding road in the dark of the night?"

He grinned, relief shining in his eyes. "Actually...I had an offer from a very nice old couple to stay with them tonight if things went badly up here, I'll have you know. If I could walk it back to town, that is... The bulls and I both would have had safe refuge for tonight."

She snorted, shook her head, stood up and gathered the empty dishes. "Get your happy herd up from there and help me clear the table." She eyed him as he unfolded himself from the chair, lean frame uncoiling, and she felt the curl of desire inside her. _Yeah. Going to have to get him naked again. And maybe for more than just getting rid of those pants._

II.

They washed dishes side by side. He washed, and she dried and put away. It was a casual, homey thing. A partners thing. They fell into it without thinking. They carried the dishes into the kitchen together still talking, still teasing, and he simply flicked on the faucet, plugged the drain, squirted in the soap, began to wash. She listened to what he was saying, gave her answers or smart-ass replies as were needed, and picked up a dishtowel lying on the cabinet unbidden as each dish came dripping out of being rinsed. Their fingers tangled with each other as she took the plates and glasses from him, and he ran his index finger down her hand to her wrist lightly, gently, with a knowing smile once or twice. When he did that, she lost the track of the conversation for a moment, had to go back and retrace what she'd been saying to pick up the threads of it.

"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you," she accused.

"Yup," he said, totally unabashed.

"You know, stuff like that will get you in trouble, mister."

He was washing a pot he'd used for cooking green beans, scrubbing at a reluctant bean stuck to the side. He didn't even look at her, but an unrepentant grin slid across his face. "Oh, I most sincerely hope so."

She'd never had that before, never had this sort of casual domesticity, never wanted it. She'd had men aplenty who expected "service with a smile" straight out of a 1950's sitcom (which they by God hadn't gotten). She'd had men who'd tried to serve her (and that had been scary in ways she wasn't going to start trying to explain). She'd had one or two men who followed the "you cooked, I clean" mentality (back when she'd bothered to cook for them at all), coming in with a holy and martyred expression to bang things around and slosh water to the point of making so much noise and mess that had invariably wound up as another cleanup job for her afterward. But it was only Marshall who stood beside her here as he did everywhere else and made it seem natural, expected, easy, normal, something everybody did as they cleaned up the knives and forks, the plates and glasses, the pots and pans. This was just a part of _them_, she realized, as they were finishing up, and she looked up at him with something glowing in her eyes that made him drop the sponge he was wringing out in the sink.

"Mare," he said, a little uncertainly, a question in it. He still had dishsoap on his hands.

"Shh," she murmured, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him down into a kiss that was tender, soft, filled with all the things she was feeling but did not possess words to say.

He didn't question it, didn't question the sudden emotion vibrating through her. He simply pulled her tightly against him, sudsy hands and all, and gave back to her from the endless pool he held inside him just for her.

III.

They'd come back outside to drink more wine and look at the stars. They sat leaning against the deck railing, staring up, he with his back against the post, she between his legs leaning back against him, his arms around her. The moon had risen, and it bathed everything in its silver light.

"Looks like you could reach out and grab it doesn't it?" he mused.

She huffed a laugh. "Silly. Sure. Go ahead."

He grinned. She felt it against her hair. He reached up as if to grasp the silver ball of it, and she heard him take a quick breath.

"What? What is it?" She turned her head, turned in his arms to look at him. There was an expression of wry discomfort on his face.

"About 14 hours of driving in the past 36," he said. "It's nothing. I'm just a little stiff and sore from being in the proverbial saddle so long." He shifted slightly as if trying to alleviate the twinge.

Mary looked at him, reading him easily. He couldn't hide things from her half as well as he thought he could. _Liar, liar._

She stood up, held out her hand, and she saw swift regret in his eyes at what he perceived to be the loss of their outside closeness because of his weakness. _Little does he know what I've got in mind._

"Mare, really, I'm..."

"Shut up and come on, will you?"

He sighed, took her hand, and let her tug him lightly to his feet. She didn't miss the wince as he came up. She pulled him firmly by the hand across the deck, and she glanced back over her shoulder to see resignation settle on his face as they approached the bedroom door. She stopped, though, before actually reaching it, and she turned to him again.

"Okay. Time to loose the bull britches, buster."

Confusion now. "Mare, what...? I don't understand..."

She grinned, and it was her dangerous grin, the one that boded no good for Marshall. It made his heart speed up. It made his brain slow down. He _loved_ that grin. She pointed to the hot tub which sat bubbling and frothing right outside the bedroom door.

"I said...strip. Do you need it in Morse Code? Spanish? Vulcan? 'Cause I actually thought it was pretty clear. Lose the cows, boy, and get your butt in that water."

And she proceeded to lead by example, whipping the long-sleeved tee over her head.

* * *

**More to come, and soon. And yes. The pajamas are real. I found them online and couldn't resist. :) Shopping for Marshall is so much fun.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thought it was a dead story, didn't you? No. It's not. A couple of things have held this storyline up, though. First, I've been consumed by a Doctor Who fic called Temptation that won't stop going. It's not a bad way to go, really. I'm a long-time Who-fan, so it's fun and very unexpected to find that I can write for that, too.**

**More than that, though, to be honest, I got really mad at IPS at the end of this last season. Yes, it was still wonderful, and yes, I still enjoyed it, especially how some things in Mary's life did come to a positive conclusion. I thought they went a long way toward humanizing her this season. However, I also kept feeling like they were just setting her up for something bad for no good reason with Faber, and I didn't like that. Maybe I just have a suspicious, fan-fiction-writing, plot-twist-creating mind...**

**There were other things, too. The season finale...well...that put the icing on the cake for me. I knew how it was going to end when Jinx brought out those damn brochures. Anyway...It's taken me a long time to get back in the IPS groove. I saw yesterday that they've renewed IPS for two years. Maybe if I'm patient like Marshall always is, it will all work out well and they'll quit jerking everybody around.**

**You'll never see another author's note this long from me, but there are an awful lot of you who have been waiting far too long for this update, and I felt like you deserved to know why. And now, on with the show. I've been saving these lyrics for just this scene.

* * *

**

Well, I wanna make love to you tonight  
I can't wait 'til the morning has come  
And I know that the time is just right  
And straight into my arms you will run  
And when you come my heart will be waiting  
To make sure that you're never alone  
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear  
There and then I will make you my own  
And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside  
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide

Can I just have one a' more Moondance with you, my love  
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

~ "Moondance" Van Morrison

* * *

I.

The frothing water felt like heaven against Marshall's aching back. He leaned back against the jets, opened his eyes to stare up at the stars and the moon, and sighed in relief.

"See? I have good ideas, too."

He rolled his head on the padded rest and looked at Mary.

"Have I ever implied otherwise?"

She snorted.

"I believe you insinuated this was a ploy on my part to separate you from those godawful pajama pants..."

He grinned, arched a brow.

"Wasn't it?"

She matched his smile.

"Only partially."

He laughed. "See. I knew you had ulterior motives." He shifted slightly, closing his eyes again, rolling his shoulders, trying to get the remaining stiffness out.

She eyed him, taking in the expanse of his chest, the strong column of his throat, the high cheekbones highlighted by the brilliant moonlight, and she felt a curl of lust uncoiling. "Mmm. I did indeed have ulterior motives." _But the pajama pants were the least of them... _"Still sore?"

"A little. It's loosening up. These jets are helping a lot. I could do with one of these at home."

She continued to drink in the sight of him, continued to plot. _Now to get him out of the hot tub and into the bed..._

"You know...just the hot tub by itself is not going to be enough to get all the kinks out."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, a wicked grin appearing. "Ah, Mare. I would never have presumed a hot tub could get _all_ the kinks out, but I was hoping that it was going to at least bring out some of them..." He reached out and traced his fingertips down her arm.

She laughed. "Idiot. What if I tell you I'm not having sex with you _in_ this hot tub at all?"

He looked at her with soulful blue puppy dog eyes, reached out and took her hand, brought it to his lips. "Really? You'd do that? You'd be that cruel? You'd sit here naked in the froth and silvered by the moonlight like Venus rising from the sea and then tell me no?"

She made a face. "Ever had sex in a hot tub, slick?"

A wry smile twisted his lips. "Um, no. Can't say that I've had the pleasure. Yet." He kept her hand in his, stroked his thumb across the knuckles, turned it over, kissed her on the inside of her wrist where the veins and arteries joined.

She closed her eyes briefly at the sensation, paused a moment before continuing. "Well, it's not all it's cracked up to be, actually. The temperature is too high, you see. Can't enjoy anything because everybody's about to explode and not in that good way."

He slipped his hand up her arm, pulled her gently toward him through the water situating her so she slid across his bare thighs to sit on his lap sideways. She did not resist. The bubbles fizzed and hissed around them.

"So...while you're not interested in hot tub sex..."

"That's right..."

"Might I interest you in something like this?" And he leaned down and captured her mouth. She made a little noise of welcome, opening for him, and he swept his tongue in immediately, hers coming up to clash, to stroke against it. He twined his fingers into her wet hair, cradling the back of her head.

When he broke the kiss, she made a little noise of irritation, and he smiled. "I take it that's a yes, then..."

She stared at his mouth, licked at the taste of him on her own lips. Her hand slid up from his shoulder into his short dark mane to grip a handful ungently. "Marshall." It was a growl, a warning, but he did not fear her, had never feared her. If his heart beat faster, it was only in desire.

"And if you find that acceptable hot tub behavior, what about..." His fingers lightly grazed her nipple. He felt it peak for him, tighten as he circled it with just the tip of his index finger. He lowered his gaze to watch the motion of his hand on her body, watch the bubbles froth around the erect crest. When his eyes came back to hers, they were hot enough to burn, and she pulled at his hair again.

"Marshall...if you don't..."

"There's that threat again," he murmured. "Always so fast with the race to the edge of danger." He kissed her, teasingly, lightly flicking his tongue in and against hers, away. "Sometimes I wonder what you'd do, how far you'd actually take it..." She felt his hand skimming down her body, just his fingertips touching her stomach, tracing her bellybutton, little touches like red-hot branding irons, somehow even warmer than the water.

"Don't push me, or you're going to find out." She squirmed on his lap, pulled against his hair hard trying to bring his mouth down to hers, trying to get closer to him for what her body truly craved.

He refused her. "But you made it clear you didn't want hot tub sex, Mare." He cupped his hand over her golden curls, and she arched her hips in wanting, legs spreading in invitation. He sucked her bottom lip and slipped one finger down to explore her. Her eyes slid closed and she let out a noise of choked pleasure, continuing to pull at him.

"I don't know. Is this going too far?" He murmured it against her ear just before he sucked the lobe. His finger was lazily circling. She couldn't answer. It just felt too good. Then it stopped.

Her eyes flew open. He was looking down at her with eyes of blue flame. "Tell me. Wouldn't want to cross any lines. _Is this going too far_?"

"Going. To. Goddamn. Kill. You."

He flicked the swollen bud of her with his finger and she arched, moaned. "That's hardly an answer, now, is it?" His voice was husky, dark, wicked. He resumed stroking her, added a finger that pressed, teased, circled, then barely slipped into her where ached for hard, full penetration. "Do you like it, Mare? Do you want me to keep going? Because I can stop..." And he did. Again.

She writhed in his arms, would have come up and wrestled him and taken what she wanted, but his hand in her hair fisted, held her in place suddenly, and this, this unexpected tease, this unexpected bit of darkness from Marshall was burning her up completely.

_He's going to make me say it...Oh God. He's going to make me tell him... I... I..._

Those insidious fingers resumed their torment, and she bit her bottom lip, arching into them, straining for release as he began to use his thumb to caress her swollen nub, slowly stroking, gently gliding, firmly pressing, lightly fluttering. Again as before, the tip of one finger teased her entrance, slipping in the slightest bit before slowly withdrawing. Then, it slid in just a bit more and with aching slowness circled and slipped out. Her hips began to move against his hand, and then...

He stopped.

"Damn you. Going..to...kill... you... Gun. Want my gun..."

He kissed her throat, biting lightly. He laughed hoarsely.

"Give me, Mary. Tell me. Tell me you want it. Tell me you like it." His voice was somehow different when he said it. There was something there...

_He wants to hear it, _she realized. _Not just a tease. Not just fucked-up frustrating foreplay. He really wants to hear it. Maybe needs to hear it... He wants me to say I want __**him**__. That I like __**him**__. _

She suddenly understood, and some of the wrath at his delay melted away. She gave herself up to it.

"Again," she whispered locking eyes with those brilliant blue ones. She felt his thumb circle her, felt his index finger slip inside her just as far as the first knuckle. She arched against his hand with a moan.

"Just like...that..." His hand began to move more quickly and she saw his lips part. "You want me to tell you? Tell you that I like it, Marshall?"

He nodded.

She released his hair, draped one arm around his neck for support, braced her foot against the seat, arched her entire body in a beautiful muscular bow that crested the water, foam tracing over her as her belly, her breasts, her upper body shone in the moonlight.

"I like it, Marshall. When you're touching me that way, I feel..so...good. Shall I show you how much I like it? Let me show you what I feel..."

She ran her free hand up her own torso as the pleasure from his slow, deliberate touch coursed through her, cupped her own breast, stroked her thumb over her own nipple in an imitation of the motion of his finger against her below.

His eyes were almost completely black with arousal as he raked them over her, taking in her gleaming flesh, her hand on her own body.

"Mare," his voice was a growl, predatory, hungry.

She moaned, plucked and rolled the nipple, staring at his mouth. His eyes were riveted on the motion of her hands on her own body. His finger that had been teasing thrust hard into her and she cried out. At the same time, he leaned down to suck the erect peak she'd been teasing with her fingers deep and hard into his mouth, and she felt his wicked fingers between her legs promising ecstasy. She writhed in abandon on his lap, gasping as he slid a second finger inside her as the movements of his hand continued, got harder. She wove her fingers through his hair, skimmed her short nails across his scalp, down his back as she felt his teeth nip at her.

"I'm...so...close...Just...Just like that...Marshall..." she moaned.

His hand between her legs picked up its pace, his mouth at her breast intensified its pleasurable suckling, and as she looked down at him, her eyes met his. He was looking at her like she was the living embodiment of desire. Like she truly _was_ Venus risen from the sea. Like she was everything any man could ever want. Like she was sacrosanct and fuckable all at the same time. It was the most erotic expression she had ever seen in any man's eyes because she knew it for what it was. It wasn't just lust, desire, need although those were present, white hot. It surpassed that. It was worship. It was devotion. It was Love. It overloaded her circuits and sent her right over, screaming his name.

II.

Mary woke beside him in the big bed. The late morning sun was falling across the floor of the room and she looked at Marshall's profile as he slept.

He'd carried her in from the hot tub and they'd spent the whole night exploring each other slowly, sweetly. They'd fallen asleep curled together sometime after the moon had set. She didn't want to move now, didn't want to wake him, didn't want to disturb this feeling of peace that surrounded her.

Almost as if he heard her, his eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her. A sleepy smile spread over his face.

"Morning."

She scooted over slightly, just enough so she could lay her head on his shoulder.

"Morning."

He hesitated a moment, and then he wrapped his arms loosely around her. She smiled. _This felt good._

"I could get used to this," she murmured, enjoying the warmth, the sound of his heartbeat.

"I most sincerely hope so," he rumbled, running his hand slowly down her back.

They continue to lay like that, still and lazy, simply enjoying the feeling of being together until she heard his stomach rumble. She looked up at him, grinning.

"Say you might feel up to some breakfast, hmm?"

Again, that lazy, sleepy grin crept across his lips, but he didn't open his eyes or stir.

"I could probably eat."

She snorted. "When could you not?"

He laughed softly. "The lady has a valid point..."

She lay there just a moment longer before slapping his chest lightly. "Okay, cowboy. Get up. Let's go see what kind of breakfast you can whip up."

"Me? Why am I doing all the cooking?" He mock whined and grumbled as he rolled to a seated position.

She was slipping on her robe and heading for the bathroom. She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder at him. "Which one of us will be doing most of the eating, do you think?"

He gave that a moment's thought as he watched her stride out the door to take the first shower.

"Again," he said to the now-empty room, "the lady has a valid point..."

III.

They were both clean, fed, and sitting at the table talking when a knock at the front door startled them. Instincts honed by years of keeping both themselves and others alive had them both reaching for their absent sidearms, and they looked at each other sheepishly.

"Creatures of habit, much?" Mary said.

"And paranoid ones at that." Marshall said, arching his brow as he pushed away from the table.

"It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you." Her voice trailed after him.

"Ha-ha."

At the door, he lifted the curtain and looked out. A little grin appeared on his face, and he gestured to Mary that it was okay. He undid the locks and opened it. On the porch stood the wild-haired little man from the repair shop. When he saw Marshall, his wizened face creased into a wide smile.

"Well, you are in here. Good for you, young man. I got to worrying last night, and when I told Francis about you, she gave me the very devil about not making sure you had a place to stay..." He broke off as Mary walked into the room and he caught sight of her.

"Ah, hello there! You must be the young lady Marshall here was so worried about getting here to see last night."

Mary smiled at Marshall. "Was he now? Hmm. I guess it must have been me, then, unless he's got a girl stashed out back that I don't know about yet... I'm Mary Shepherd. Won't you come in, Mr...?"

"Mr. Padget. It's nice to meet you. And, thank you kindly, but no. I'm not here to intrude. I just wanted to check in on Marshall and ease my mind a bit. Well, my mind and Francis', too, I reckon you could say. Marshall, the parts are on order, so we should be looking at getting them in tomorrow evening when the truck runs. I'll get them on just as soon as I can after that."

"That's fine, Mr. Padget. I'm in no rush." Marshall looked at Mary, a slight smile on his face.

"Ah. Well. Young love. Hope you know how lucky you are, my boy."

"Oh, I do. Believe me, I do."

"Well, I'll get myself back down the road, then. Got a garage full of work this morning."

Marshall walked him down the long porch to his truck.

"She's a real beauty, Marshall. I can see why you were so anxious to get up here and patch things up. Did you tell her all the important things, fix everything that was broken between you?"

Marshall glanced back toward the house. "We're working on it, I think. We're making good progress."

Mr. Padget smiled and patted him on the arm. "Good. Good. Perfect setting to get everything settled here." He climbed into his old truck and slammed the door. As he put it into gear and began to back up, he brought it to a stop one last time and turned his gaze from the rearview to Marshall one last time.

"Should it all go to hell in a handcart, though, boy, Francis still has that guest room waiting!" He honked the horn, cackling loudly, backed up, and pulled away smoothly.


End file.
